


Lights Out in London

by ThatYukoGirl



Category: Hetalia: Axis Powers
Genre: Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Drama, Eventual Romance, F/M, Family Feels, Fluff and Angst, Gun Violence, Homelessness, Implied/Referenced Drug Use, London, Loss of Parent(s), Police, Slow Burn
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-07-10
Updated: 2021-02-27
Packaged: 2021-03-04 20:22:25
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 15
Words: 61,967
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25182436
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ThatYukoGirl/pseuds/ThatYukoGirl
Summary: 19 year old Amelia Jones finds herself on the streets of London after years of arguing with her father. Cold, hungry and unkempt, she breaks into the house of Arthur Kirkland to raid his fridge. The problem is that Arthur Kirkland is a police officer, and last time she checked, they didn't take break ins lightly...
Relationships: America & England (Hetalia), America/England (Hetalia)
Comments: 74
Kudos: 90





	1. Cold

_I'm cold._

Amelia drew the sleeves of her tattered bomber jacket over her red, cracked hands. They were shaking violently with the cold. She grumbled at the British autumn night, shuffling back against the brick edifice she'd found to sleep by. The streetlight a few feet away was insulting to the darkness of the alleyway, casting yellow shadows across the cracks of the tarmac of the pavements. It illuminated a car as it sped by, flashing its silver colour momentarily. It rumbled off the walls of the alleyway, echoing between them and into Amelia's ears, rattling her already-aching head. Despite the usual traffic even though the hour was late, Harlesden was quiet. There was a few drunkards stumbling about, and some shouting from local youths, but all in all, the silence of nighfall surrounded the North West London town. The wasn't a cloud in the black sky, indicating to the girl that she would most likely have to brush frost off her blanket in the morning, and she watched distainfully as the stars twinkled mockingly overhead. _Shut up,_ she told them in her head, _let me sleep, I'm dog tired._ What time was it? She had no clue; seconds, minutes, hours, days all blurred into one single entity when you were homeless. Time was, she supposed, a human construction after all. 

Amelia was sick to her stomach with hunger. She'd asked an old lady, some few yards away from her make shift sleeping spot, for a few pounds to get herself some food. She was met with a look of suspicion and disgust as the pensioner scurried away, so had opted to raid the high street for scraps of things that the local takeaways threw out at the end of the night. It was barely enough to fill her mouth, let alone ease the pain. That old lady would return to a roof over her head and nice food in her belly one way or another, and the thought made the girl's skin itch with envy. Her back was emitting a dull, irremovable ache from night after night on floors or park benches, and Amelia knew she would never take aspirin for granted again. She really didn't smell the greatest, either, and the dubious cut on her exposed, swollen ankle was beginning to look infected. She hadn't had a clue how it got there, just the fact that it simply was. It was ironic and rather reflective of her situation; nodody cared remotely why she was sitting in between buildings, wearing grubby ripped jeans, a wet t-shirt, dirty and ill-fitting trainers, and what was the old family heirloom but now her bomber jacket. Nobody cared. She was just there, existing. A statistic. Besides all of her ailments, laments and issues, Amelia was currently in the throws of being the one thing she hated the most. Cold. It stabbed at her pale skin, like knives made of icicles, penetrated through her bones and deep into the marrow, set her nerves on fire in her fingers and toes. She thought for sure her blood would freeze tonight, and felt sorry for the person who might theortically find her body in the morning. She pulled her jacket tighter and rearranged the blanket, making sure not to touch the dubious stain in the bottom right hand corner, as she tucked her legs up to her chest. She longed for the sun on her skin, or a warm cup of coffee. 

Three weeks of this, moving around and sleeping in parks or on patches of dirt, senses on high alert in the twists and turns of the city's back alleys. Anything could happen at any moment. She sat, awake and cold as the ruminating began, worrying about which lost soul would enter this particular alleyway tonight and what they might say or do. So far, she had been spat on, verbally assaulted and had what little possesions she owned either looted or stolen, and sometimes the girl wondered how this had become so normal. She so badly wanted to stay alert, stay awake and ready to fight whoever tried her patience, but her eyes burned, her head ached, and the exhaustion became so overwhelming that despite her better judgement, she closed her eyes. 

She first woke to a loud thud, and bolted upright. She looked around, only to find an alley cat had jumped into one of the big, obnoxiously red, smelly communal bins. It eyed her, green eyes devilish, before meowing and turning in circles on the offensive-smelling refuse deposit. It settled, and Amelia swore. "Stupid cat, clear off." She mumbled sleepily, and covered her head with her blanket. Sleep consumed her again. 

The second time she woke was to a nudge on her shoulder. _Police,_ she thought, and cracked open an eye. Lo and behold, a kind-looking brunette female officer, dressed in navy blue trousers with her stocky vest, clearly labelled 'POLICE', was crouched by her side, warm hand on her shoulder as she gently shook her out of dreamland. She spoke, "I'm so sorry to wake you, Miss, but I'm going to have to ask you to move along. This alleyway is belongs to the company you're sleeping next to, they don't take kindly to homeless people." Said the woman, voice soft and with an accent Amelia couldn't place. Portuguese, probably, there were lots of Portuguese, South American and Caribbean people living in Harlesden. Amelia sat and rubbed her sore eyes, "S'fine, I was gonna move anyway." She said, offering her and her partner, lurking off to the side, a weak smile. Her joints ached as she rose, and rolled her blankets up with the help of the officer "Thanks for helping, you didn't have to. Most of your colleagues don't bother." Amelia spoke tucking her belonging under her arm. "Think of it as an apology for having to move you." She responded, tucking her hands into her vest. She paused and then spoke again, "You're American, right? From your accent?" She girl nodded, "Yes, ma'am," Amelia responded, and watched the other female dig around for something in her pocket. A two pound coin went whizzing through the air, a sparkling diamond as it caught the yellow glow of the streetlight. The girl fumbled to catch it, and looked gratefully at the officer, "You folks like coffee, yeah? Get yourself one on me in the morning. I'm sorry I can't offer you more." She said, and left the space between buildings with a wink. She and her partner disappeared from view. The American sighed and clasped the precious currency in her palm as she made her way out of the opposite side of the alleyway. 

The night time streets met her with a bite of chilly wind, and she watched two men, one with a bike, exchange something nearby a trash can. The shutters of various high street shops were pulled down over their large windows, and the neon lights of takeaway companies were now dark. It must have been early morning, she reckoned, as she made her way to the merlot Jubilee Clock. It was lavishly decorated with golden spandrals and motifis of leaves, crossing a few coat of arms. She crossed the road to get a better look at the foreboding clockface. It was two in the morning, the sun would rise in four hours. Deciding against sleeping again, because what was the point, she listened to the noises of her empty stomach and went in search of food. The journey of unfruitful dumpster diving took her in the residential direction, and as the hours until sunrise dragged on, lights in the old Victorian-style houses began to flicker to life behind the curtains. She watched as the people occupying the houses went about their morning routines, oblivious to her personal predicament of finding enough food to make it through another day. The prickle of envy arrived in her mind once again as she settled on a pavement by the road. There had to be something else, there had to be another way to end these hunger pains. She took a look down the street and saw an open window. A dangerous thought crossed her mind as she stood to take a closer look.

Pressing her nose to the glass and shielding the glare from the street with her hands, she peered into the house. It was dark and the slow tripping of a tap could be heard. Her eyes adjusted to the darkness quickly, and more of the room beyond became available to her senses. It looked like a kitchen; she could make out a thrumming sound of a fridge, and an electric stove top, but little else. Home comforts, things she hadn't seen in an extraordinarily long time. A fridge full of food, heating blaring, a warm shower, a soft bed, a fridge full of food, a fridge full of food... Food. She smiled, excitement bubbling as she subconsciously pried the window open further, then reconsidered and dropped under the window sill. She sat with her head in her hands. "What the hell am I thinking?" She whispered, "I can't just break into somebody's house like that!"

But the thought was so irresitably tantalising that she couldn't help but entertain it.

Amelia's mother's voice rang in her head from a far off place, warning her against doing anything on an empty stomach. She shook the voice away and stood again, imagining the smell of cooking bacon on that very stove and her stomach gave the loudest rumble in a while. _I'll be okay, right?_ She reasoned, _I'll just be quiet, get the food, eat and leave. No one will miss a bit of food. Of course not, they'll just think they ate it themselves. I need it far more..._ If she was thinking straight, she would have been appalled at herself, but that was the point: she wasn't thinking straight. She pulled herself up onto the sill, and ducked through the gap between the frame.

The warm darkness welcomed her as she stepped into the basin of the sink. It was full of frothy, room temperature water and some left over dishes from the occupant's meal. She made an audible noise of distaste at her now-wet shoes and socks but preceded to enter anyway. She climbed deftly onto the white kitchen counter, avoiding the cardboard takeaway boxes as she manoeuvred her feet to the floor. She jumped from the counter, landing quietly. She paused for a second, waiting to see if she had potentially alerted anyone to her presence, then stood and dusted off her dirty clothes. Her heart was hammering in her ears, blood gushing through her veins at an alarming rate. She took a moment of congratulations, but shame tickled the edge of her senses. She pushed it away because she wasn't about to get caught. She crept over to the fridge, and took a breath as she opened the door, imagining lavish chicken dinners with all the trimmings, chilli with rice, spaghetti bolognese, hambugers, hot dogs, sushi, cans of coke and everything else her insides had missed. A long banquet table filled with food, just for her. Her tummy roared. She opened the door and the light flickered on to reveal-

_Huh?_

Nothing, save for a rotting head of lettuce, a single egg, three cans of Carling and half a pint of milk. Disappointment filled her peripherals as she slammed the door shut in betrayal. She wanted to cry.

She didn't get the chance. Something hard and fast rammed her like a ragdoll against the door of the fridge, painfully twisting her arm up and into the small of her back. Something warm was pressed across the back of her neck as she screamed in surprise and fear, unable to move. She writhed and squirmed in panic as the blood drained from her face. Silence reared its ugly head as she struggled, then a voice. British, male.

"What the _everloving fuck_ are you doing in my house?"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So that's chapter one.. I'm nervous and my writing is rusty, but please tell me what you think. There will be more dialogue in the next chapter, as you can imagine. I'm struggling with the formatting, so I'm gonna go and look that up now so it'll be better in the next one. Thank you for reading! 
> 
> Yuko


	2. Caught

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I got really carried away with this one, as you can tell by the fact the word count is twice the size of the first chapter. Rip. I fixed the formatting though!
> 
> Anyway, here's Mr Kirkland in all his glory, being all sweet and mysterious and stuff. 
> 
> By the way, thank you so much to you guys who gave me my first kudos. I never even expected one, let alone two. So thank you for those warm fuzzy feelings, it means a lot.
> 
> Enjoy this chapter!
> 
> Yuko

"H-hey, man, lay off. I was just hungry. I didn't take anything, I swear!" The homeless girl cried to her assailant. The man behind released her momentarily, but only to shove her against the fridge again. The air escaped the girl's lungs with a groan as she scrambled for purchase on something, anything.

  
"Here's what you're going to do, kid," He began, voice like velvet against her cheek,

  
"I'm not a kid!" She cried, desperate to be freed. The person tutted, rolling his eyes, but didn't let up on his iron-like hold. _Damn, this guy's strong!_

  
"When I let go, you're going to turn around and empty your pockets in front of me. You're going to take out any weapon you may have and place it on the floor. Do I make myself clear?" The man spoke again. He was eerily calm with the way he spoke, as if Amelia posed no threat to him at all, which she didn't. The more she considered it, the more it sounded rehearsed. Still, the American responded with a fast nod,

  
"C-crystal!" She called, and felt the weight leave her back and the pressure on her arm release. She sighed as she stretched her arm, and turned around to see the figure reaching to switch on the kitchen lights. Before the room came to life, Amelia bolted past the man and sent him stumbling into the wall. She ran through another dim room, lit only by the darkness outside that was streaming through the open curtains, dodging furniture and banging open doors as she made a mad dash for the hallway, skidding and sliding on the wooden flooring. She slipped, crashed into a wall, struggled to her feet and sprinted to what appeared to be the outline of the front door. Footsteps followed her, followed by cries to stop running. Something caught a hold of her sore ankle, and she cried out in pain as the force sent her crashing face first onto the floor again.

  
"I implore you to stop, Miss!" Called the man's voice again and he stood over her prone form. She looked up at him as he knelt to rest his knee in her back. Fearing capture again, Amelia kicked out a leg and it connected with something hard before she scrambled to her feet. She slammed against the doorway and jiggled the handle. It rattled and jostled, but the door didn't budge an inch. _Come on, come on!_ She pleaded with the portal, hoping to escape before the occupant of the house caught her again. The footsteps approached, and the girl turned around with dread. The occupant of the house switched on the lights and the room flickered to life. Magnolia walls, laminate flooring and gloss skirtings, a hardwood sideboard jutted out of the wall, with a medium sized mirror positioned above it. A bowl for keys and a landline telephone sat upon it, along with a vase with absent flowers. The wooden unit gave way to stairs as they came into view, although the second floor remained unseen. From far off down the hallway, the light dissipated into the kitchen where Amelia had entered. In the middle of the room, stood the man whose house she'd just broken into.

He was an average height, standing at around 5ft 9, yet the depth of his shoulders made him seem taller. He was well-built, but not stocky, as Amelia could see through his dark green pyjamas. His hair was golden blonde in colour, like sand on a beach, and although it was sleep tousled, it looked very well maintained. His features were sharp and handsome; straight nose, high cheek bones, strong jaw... But his eyes, which were currently glaring daggers at the girl, were probably the most interesting part of him. They looked to be soft and wide set, and the most unusual shade of green. It was one she hadn't seen before, and they looked rather like glimmering peridots. They were situated underneath thick eyebrows, and he raised them at her while she assessed his face, crossing his arms.

  
"You've got no chance getting out from a locked door, sweetheart." He spoke, voice thick with that accent everybody but herself seemed to have. She cleared her throat, trying to catch her breath, feeling the searing hot burn of pain throb across her ankle,

  
"Please, sir, just let me go. I don't want no trouble with you. I didn't take nothin' of yours, I just wanted food. Scout's honour." She admitted, and he stood stock still for just a moment. He unfolded his arms and approached her. He raised a hand as if to strike her, and with her hand still on the front door, she squeezed the metal and screwed her eyes shut. The door chain near her head jingled as it slapped against the door, and Amelia opened her eyes to see that the chain had been released. She watched as his long fingers took the door off the latch. The portal was open.

  
"Empty your pockets, then you can go." He reiterated. She turned back to him, looking upwards at their proximity. He looked down, stern and unforgiving but with something soft twinkling there. Pity. Amelia considered her options, wondering if she could run. The girl pulled at the door handle, opening it ajar. She felt the fresh night air through it. _Freedom!_ She turned, ready to squeeze through the crack, but she felt herself manhandled again and a strong arm flew past her face to slam it shut. It held itself there, securely. Amelia closed her eyes momentarily at the force, and looked at the man sheepishly.

  
"Pockets," He ordered, " _Now._ " The girl took one last look at the door, before stepping away from it, mouth set in a livid line and abandoning all thoughts of freedom. The man stepped back too, as the girl turned out each one of her pockets. Her cheeks flushed with embarrassment when dirt fell from them and onto the floor. The two pound coin the officer had given her earlier rolled off somewhere to the right, and those two peridot eyes followed it keenly. She glanced at him hopefully when he focused his attention on her once again,

  
"Now your jacket pockets, please." He asked. Well, at least he asked nicely. The American responded by doing as he instructed, and turned out nothing save dirt once again. The Britisher sighed deeply. He nodded, content she was unarmed and not a thief, then unfolded his arms.

  
"See? I just wanted food, nothin' else," She said softly. The man's face softened, and Amelia relaxed a little. His eyes trailed her from head to toe, and she felt a little exposed. Amelia got the impression she was being assessed, as if his mind was made of turning cogs as he took in her unkemptness. He fixed his gaze on the angry weeping gash on her ankle, frowning deeply and cringing. He let loose a hiss of empathy before looking back up to her face.

  
"Follow me into the kitchen, I've got some stuff in the cupboard if you still want it," He said, voice lacking most of the suspicion he'd had earlier. The girl nodded eagerly, subconsciously wondering if said room was the room in which she might meet her end.

With the lights on, the kitchen was larger than Amelia had initially thought. It was relatively clean too, despite the full sink, bin and strawn takeout boxes. She recognised them from one of the takeaway businesses on the high street that had given her food sometimes. So, a bachelor pad, then? The man cleared away some of the stray cups that littered the sides and deposited them in the full sink she had stepped in earlier. He ran his fingers through his hair with a yawn and swung open one of the cupboard doors. He gestured to the girl,

  
"I only have Pot Noodle. I know they're shockingly rubbish and have no nutritional value whatsoever, but do you want it?" He asked, and Amelia's stomach let her know that it was, in fact, perfectly fine. She hated the cheap Cup Noodle ripoffs with a passion, but now it sounded like the most amazing foodstuff in the world. She nodded from the doorway, twisting her hands awkwardly as he removed the pot and tore the foil lid off. He motioned her to enter as he set about filling the kettle, and she gingerly stepped through the threshold and into the place she had breached not half an hour ago. She felt like a child when they encountered their friend's parents when stopping for tea, although this man was the exact opposite of a friend right now. The atmosphere was heavy with suspicion and guilt, and it confused the girl so much that she wasn't sure who it was emitting those vibes. Sure, he had every right to be suspicious, she had just broken into his house to raid his sparsely stocked fridge, and she had every right to feel guilty for doing so. The guilt, however, seemed to stem from this person too, and she watched him in deep thought and he moved about his kitchen. The undertones clung to her like a film, like oil to skin, and she tried to find a way to lighten the mood. She glanced up at the open window, and decided to gesture to it meekly,

  
"You should really, uh, close your windows at night, you know. People could break in," Her attempt at a joke failed, and was met with an unimpressed blank stare as the occupant of the house clicked shut the lid of the kettle with one hand and reached over to pull the window closed with the other. He placed the device back on the element. _Okay, so no joking. Got it._ She coughed into her fist as the tension grew even more awkward.

He pointed to one of the counters,

  
"Jump up on there, I want to take a look at that ankle." He said, and yawned again. She gave him a dubious look, but paced over and pushed herself up onto the counter, arms protesting with the force. He watched her thoughtfully as she arranged herself, and she found his gaze with anticipation. He reached up onto the fridge and pulled down a green box with a handle and a white cross. He knelt down on the cool tiles of the kitchen floor in front of her,

  
"What're you gonna do?" She asked distrustfully, raising her feet out of his reach. The man looked at her,

  
"I just want to take a peep at it, it looks incredibly sore." He mused, reaching for it. She held herself further away,

  
"You're not gonna cut it off and eat it?" She enquired, and it was a perfectly valid point in her opinion. She was in a strange man's house, who knew what he was capable of? The man sighed and deflated, fixing her with an expression that made the dirty blonde feel stupid,

  
"Do you see a saw around here anywhere?" He asked incredulously, and the gullible American had the audacity to look around his kitchen. When she shook her head, he muttered a final "well then" and made a motion to remove her shoe and sock. She peered down at him as the items were removed swiftly. He sighed at the state of her cold, bruised feet, even the girl herself was shocked to see the weeping red blisters that littered them. He shook his head and removed the items on the other foot too. He washed his hands before dealing with her food, pouring the hot water into the green ready meal. He stirred the noodles with a fork from the drawer, and placed it down next to her. She observed it for a second and, unable to stand the sweet, salty smell any longer, decided to eat the noodles while they were still crunchy. The Englishman raised an eyebrow,

  
"That hungry, eh?" He mused with half a smile, and Amelia wondered how devastating he would look smiling fully. She spoke around a mouthful of noodles,  
"Put it this way, I'll never say 'I'm starving' for dramatic effect again." She received a chuckle as the man knelt down again. She watched him with curiosity as he gently pressed at the skin on her feet, hissing as his fingers traced the gash on her ankle. He swallowed,

  
"What's your name?" He asked softly,

  
"Amelia. Yours?" She responded,

  
"Arthur. Just how long have you been out there, Amelia?" Came the reply. She thought for a bit,

  
"What's the date?"

  
"20th October," Arthur responded,

  
"Then about a month, I guess? I dunno, I was staying with my friend until she kicked me out," She stated, stuffing her mouth with more of the crunchy, salty concoction, and Arthur shook his head,

  
"Not much of a friend, then?" He mused, and received a head shake in return,

  
"Only when she wanted something. Money, mostly." Came the reply. Arthur continued to assess her poor feet and he followed her into unusually comfortable silence, despite their situation.

After a while, he spoke up,  
"I'm going to touch that cut now, and it's going to hurt. It looks very infected, so I'll try to be as gentle as I can," The girl took a breath as his fingers ghosted over the open wound. It stung violently as he tried to clean the area with his fingers, before giving up and digging around in the green box. He pulled out an antiseptic wipe and tore it open. He set the packaging down on his knee and began to wipe the area. She hissed and flinched away from his touch, feeling her eyes fill with tears,

  
"I know, I'm sorry," Arthur muttered apologetically, and really the girl couldn't fault his honesty.

  
"Are you a medic? Or a first aider?" She observed between gritted teeth, mainly wanting to make conversation to distract herself from the pain,

  
"Of sorts," He replied mindlessly, "It's more of a requirement of my job than anything else,"

  
"Are you one of those soup kitchen guys? You know, those volunteers who work in homeless shelters?" She quizzed,

  
"What makes you say that?" He countered, and Amelia offered him an elaborate shrug,

  
"You didn't seem surprised by me at all. Well, you were until you switched the light on and realised I had nothing anyway, and you're being really kind. Do you get many homeless girls in your kitchen?" She said, joking with the rhetoric. He didn't laugh,

  
"Not at all. No, I don't work in a soup kitchen, but I do want what's best for people in need. I see a lot of you guys around," He mused, and Amelia only had a chance to feel slightly offended at his association of her before he shook his head, hair moving with him like a halo,

  
"It's definitely infected, there's not much I can do but dress it. You really should go down to A&E, in all honesty." She froze,

  
"No. No doctors. I-I can't-" She began, and the man threw up his hands in defence,

  
"Alright, it was just a suggestion. There's no need to panic," He said. He got to his feet, and discarded the now-soiled wipe and its wrapper into the bin. The impact disturbed a stray tissue inside of the pile. It fell to the floor. He strolled back over and indicated to the empty pot,

  
"Yeah, I'm done with it. I'll take it out, you've already done so much," She said, making a move to jump down. He stopped her with a hand at shoulder, and the girl was so surprised that his hand fell further than she had expected. Just how much weight had she lost?

  
"No, stay there, I don't want you on your feet longer than you have to be," He implored, and she ignored him,

  
"Nah, I'll be fine! Don't worry, 'kay?" She said, and swung her legs to plant her feet onto the floor.

She soon realised that it was no time to be optimistic; her feet stung as if she was walking on hot coals despite the cold tiles, and Amelia realised that, without the protection of her trainers, her feet were in a worse state than the blonde had warned her of. It was like walking on glass, and she momentarily wondered if the story of the Little Mermaid was true. Her ankle moaned and throbbed as she determinedly made her way across the room to the bin, not wanting to let the man down or prove him right. Her nerves were screaming, telling her to get off them and sit the hell down somewhere, anywhere, the floor even, and she had to admit, it was tempting.

  
"Amelia." Arthur warned lowly, but she soldiered on across the kitchen floor at a snail's pace. Arthur sighed from behind her, and she heard him shuffle over to her side. He offered her his hand, which she took gratefully, and placed his other hand in the crook of her elbow. Together, and with insurmountable effort, they made it to the bin. The American feebly placed the empty pot in with the trash and all but collapsed into her savior,

  
"You won't be doing that again in a hurry, will you?" He spat, glaring at her. _Definitely not. Never again._ She huffed internally. He aided her walk back to the counter, where he hooked his hands under her arms and lifted her effortlessly onto the kitchen counter. He walked over to the basin and washed his hands again, but this time seemed to be thinking about something. It gave the girl a chance to observe her feet properly; they were in such a bad way. Fabric burns, blisters, cuts, bruises, dirt, not to mention how the redness of her ankle had spread partway to her shin. Not a good sign at all. It oozed puss of different colours, and Amelia couldn't remember the last time she was so disgusted with herself.

Arthur turned back to face her,

  
"Amelia, I have a proposition for you, but I absolutely will not force you to do anything you don't want to," He said, looking very serious all of a sudden, snatching a crumpled tea towel and drying his hands. Amelia felt her heart rise in her throat; _This is it, this is how I die_ , her brain supplied unhelpfully before she could shut it up.

  
"G-Go on…" She stammered, and the Englishman rounded to stand beside her, leaning against the counter,

  
"How about you stay here until the afternoon? I have a spare bedroom you can use, it has a lock on it too and I don't have the key. You can borrow my clothes and take a shower to warm up. You appear dangerously underweight and absolutely exhausted, and I don't like the look of that cut. Personally, I don't think I could forgive myself if I let you out of that door. Harlesden isn't the most dangerous place in the city by all means, but it isn't the safest either. Not for a young girl, at least," He said, and the girl was captivated by the offer. He seemed to pick up on this and raised a finger before she could open her mouth,

  
"However, I need some things from you first," He stressed, and her heart sank a little. _Of course there's a catch_ , she figured and looked down at her hands. Perhaps her brain was right, maybe he was going to ask for something she couldn't give.

  
"What do you need? I'll give you what I can." She mumbled, and the man continued,

  
"Firstly, have you taken or do you take drugs?" He asked sternly, and one of her previous thoughts about his speech sounding rehearsed flooded back to her. She shoved it aside and immediately went on the defensive, because taking drugs went against anything Amelia had ever stood for,

  
"Excuse me? You think I take drugs just because I'm homeless? Are you insane? Where the freaking hell would I get drugs from with no money! Do I seem like I'm on drugs to you? Do my pupils look dilated? Can you see any needle marks? No! No, of course I don't take drugs! I never have and never will!" She fumed, and Arthur blinked in surprise at her sudden outburst. He cleared his throat,

  
"Alright, alright! A simple yes or no would have sufficed. Good god," He grumbled exasperatedly, before moving on,

  
"Secondly, I'd like for you to give me your word that you'll not leave this house with any of my belongings. It's not my intention to tie homeless people with the thieving brush, but I've seen it enough times to be cautious," He stated,

  
"You have my word." She replied with all of the honesty her body could muster. The blonde regarded her and nodded, deeming her statement satisfactory.

  
"Lastly, I want you to speak to my neighbour when she wakes up. Sakura is a registered nurse and you look as if you may be in her age group, I think she could give you some idea of how to get that ankle sorted without going to A&E," He seemed to observe the look of panic rising on Amelia's face at the thought of being confronted by a professional, and began to soothe her,

  
"It will be outside of her working hours, so nothing will get reported. You seem to be running from something, heaven knows what, but she owes me a favour either way," He reassured gently, and watched as the girl drew in on herself for a bit. The offer had no strings or commitments, and she reasoned that speaking to an out-of-hours nurse was a fair price for a bed, food and shower. She hummed, and held a grubby hand out to Arthur, who took it in a firm handshake,

  
"Deal." She confirmed.

Arthur then offered her what she knew earlier would be incredibly devastating: a full smile.


	3. Poison

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Phew, this one took a hot minute. 
> 
> Thank you to everyone who commented, left kudos and bookmarked chapter 2. It's honestly overwhelming to see your feedback, and it makes me really happy. This idea was floating around in my drafts for nearly 6 years, and to see how much you guys are enjoying it makes me wish I'd done this sooner.
> 
> To the person with the mobile layout issues, I hope this chapter reads better for you. Please let me know if not! 
> 
> Anyway, I hope you enjoy the upcoming drama! 
> 
> Yuko

Arthur hadn't been able to go back to bed as he had hoped. He had every opportunity to do so, but decided to sit on the large white sofa, clockwatching, thinking. He watched the small hand meet the number five on the clock face, and sighed. His mind had been filled with his uninvited guest for roughly an hour, and he gave up trying not to think about her as he began to clean up the living room. She had looked unsightly, to say the least, and in away that made him feel guilty for thinking so; short matted blonde hair dyed brown with mud, a wet off-white t-shirt with moth-eaten holes, mucky jeans that may have been stylistically ripped at the knee but had formed stringy tears at the ankles and pockets, and the grimey bomber jacket that seemed way too big and antique for her thin, tiny form. Not to mention the mud-caked, once-white shoes, if they could still be called that. When Arthur had removed them, the soles were more holes than rubber. Images of the girl's tired and bruised feet filled his peripheral and he wondered if there were more ailments across her milky white skin. He shook his head as he rearranged the rug which had folded over in their earlier scuffle. The most intriguing part about her appearance was her face. Her eyes were beautifully large, and seemed to glow with a vivid kind of blue that didn't have a name. Not to mention the long eyelashes and rosebud lips, sent pale by the cold. Her face was sunken deeply, evidence of her sudden weight loss, and the ebony circles under her eyes told stories of countless sleepless nights under the streetlights. She would have undoubtably been very beautiful at a healthier weight, and it occured to him that she looked a bit like one of those American movie stars from the 1950s. That would indeed fit her accent, afterall. That was not the case at the moment, however, as life hadn't been very kind. He had seen so many like her around town recently, and the number seemed to be increasing at a steady rate, but increasing nonetheless. He felt a lot of responsibility for that, given his occupation as a police officer, even though he knew it wasn't his fault at all. He stood and walked over to straighten the sofa, remembering how she had kicked it quite violently during her dash for the door. It had ended up on a completely different side of the room, so he set about pushing it back to its original position in front of the television. It was amazing how a skinny, malnourished girl with a deep wound on her ankle could have kicked it that far, but Arthur supposed that anything was possible when adrenaline was par for the course. They had frightened the living daylights out of each other, after all. He chuckled disdainfully at the noise he was making by moving his furniture at five o'clock in the morning; _next door's going to be well pissed off,_ he thought and that seemed to spur him on a bit more out of spite. He wasn't too bothered by the sensitive Chinese man who lived next door, as long as he didn't wake up the sleeping girl in his spare bedroom.

The girl, Amelia, had practically jumped at his suggestion of a shower, and had spent nigh on an hour in there. She'd resurfaced smelling of his shampoo and shower gel, wearing his t-shirt and a pair of shorts he'd fished out of the bottom of his wardrobe, her hair wet and curling girlishly at her shoulders. She had handed her old clothes to him with a grateful smile, and the Englishman was wondering if he should throw them in the outside bin or call a repairman about his broken washing machine. She looked a little better, the dirt all gone and the colour returning to her cheeks, but Arthur still reckoned she was tittering on the edge of life and death. He had asked her to sit on the toilet seat as he placed her ankle on his knee and dressed the cut with gauze and a bandage. He observed her legs, and more cuts and bruises made themselves visible. They were on every surface of her exposed flesh, and it pained him to see another human being in such a state as hers. The oath he had sworn not three years prior had given him the power to protect his fellow city dwellers, but he wondered just how people like Amelia had fallen through those cracks. 

"How did you do it?" He had asked during their polite conversation, pressing the gauze to her skin and unravelling one end of the bandage,

"I dunno, it just happened. There's more corrugated iron in the backstreets than you think, and I slept in one of those places once. That's probably where I cut it, I guess?" She had answered, and Arthur remembered swearing to catch every person he saw flytipping from then on. The girl had gone to bed not long after, thanking him profusely for his kindness. The door had locked behind her as she disappeared, and it left Arthur realising just how lonely he'd been for a long time. Over the past two hours, she had taken every assumption he had made about her when she first broke in and turned them all on their heads. He was a hundred and ten percent sure the girl meant no harm at all, and Arthur had met some dodgy characters indeed. While he knew that trying to build some kind of trespassing or breaking and entering case against her was highly possible, he saw no reason to deprive a homeless girl of everything she had when she had nothing in the first place. Finished with his rearranging spree, he discovered that the living room was tidier than it ever had been. He turned back to the clock and retreated into the hallway to retrieve the landline phone. It was six, Sakura would be waking up for her shift. He considered how to approach the nurse for her opinion on his temporary housemate's condition. Dailing her number, he sighed.

"Hello, this is Sakura." Came the disembodied voice after the dial tone, Japanese accent thick in the woman's speech. Sakura had a high, breathy voice, and he had always found it relatively soothing.

"Hi, Sakura, it's Arthur," He said, and he heard the woman's tone change to friendly,

"Oh, hello. This is a rarity, though I can't say my brother is overly thrilled with all of the noise you've made. What can I do for you?" She asked, and the blonde sighed,

"Without going into lots of detail, I have a potential patient for you. She looks to be in your age group, she's very malnourished and has a gnarly looking cut on her ankle. I'd hazard a guess it's infected. Think you could stop by after your shift to come take a look at her?" He asked, and he could almost feel the girl frowning,

"That doesn't sound good at all, Arthur-san. I think you should take her to the doctor-" She began,

"That's the thing. She won't let me and I don't think she's from around here…" He interjected. The line went silent for a second, then:

"Okay, I will come to your house at 7 o'clock. Is that okay?" She said, and he confirmed it. They bid each other farewell and Arthur placed the phone back on its charging port. He caught his reflection in the mirror and was slightly appalled at his sleep-tousled state,

"Jesus Christ, it's been a long damn night," He muttered to nobody, and dived upstairs to get dressed. 

The morning passed by uneventfully, with the tinkle of soap operas in the background as Arthur tried to wash his uniform by hand. The weather was positively miserable, as per the norm for Autumn in England, so the officer decided to tuck it into the radiator and turn his heating on high. He made a start on the kitchen next, wrestling with the bin bag and tying it in a knot before exiting the front door and dumping it unceremoniously into the dustbin. He walked back inside and collected the pizza boxes, taking them outside too. He threw them into the murky green recycling bin after breaking them down. He washed up his dishes and put them away, bleached his work surfaces and mopped the floor. He was usually at work, but he had skipped out of the station last night knowing he had booked a rare day to spend on his own. Well, almost. While he was working, the house he occupied became a pig sty until his next day off. He would use it to clean maniacally, shop for food and then read a book. Subconsciously, he wondered when his days off got so boring. _You know damn well when they did. He left you with a whole house to yourself, and you have to live in it regardless_ , a part of him snapped back. He wasn't willing to spark up that internal dialogue after so long, so he pushed the thought away. The next step was indeed to go shopping for food, and he figured his unexpected guest could do with something nutritional. That was the problem, however: she was still asleep. He hadn't heard the door click, or soft footsteps on the landing. He contemplated checking in on her, but decided against it. _I'll give her an hour_ , he thought, _then I'll knock the door._

That hour passed with no sign of Amelia, and Arthur was beginning to get anxious. It was already late evening, and Sakura would be on her way soon. He really needed her awake to fill in the gaps in his knowledge, as she would be much more well equipped to answer the nurse's questions. He stood up from the sofa and retreated into the hallway, checking his uniform on the way past. He made his way upstairs and past the bathroom to a room he hadn't entered in a very long time. He raised his knuckles to knock,

"Amelia?" He called through the door. No reply.

"I say, kiddo, are you awake?" He called again to the same response. He heard a thud from the other side and stepped back, thinking she had got up to open the door. He waited for the portal to swing open, but instead the rattle of a key came skidding under the door. He picked it up, unsure of what the girl was intending. He knocked again,

"Amelia, open the door." He urged, a bit more desperate this time, pressing against the door with a bit more force. He didn't want to betray her privacy, but his rising panic called for a bit more leeway in that. His emotions about entering the bedroom were uneasy to begin with; not so much as to what he might find, but how he would react. This room had remained closed to everyone including himself for a very long time, having only been in to briefly polish the furniture there. It held a deep significance to the man, and was the only suture to an emotional wound he would rather not open. _Less about the dead, Arthur, and more about the living_ , he told himself, and decided that if he wasn't ready now there was a potential threat to someone in his care, then he never would be. He knocked on the door for the last time. Either the girl slept like the dead, or something far more sinister was going on. He rammed the key into the lock and inched the door open bit by bit. The curtains were drawn against the drizzle outside, the vacant wardrobe and drawers to the left of the door were untouched. The bed stood unmade in the corner, and it was empty.

"Amelia?" He questioned, and it wasn't until the door opened to its full capacity that he saw her, curled up on the floor in a fetal position. Stemming the stream of panic he had felt before, he marched over and turned the girl onto her back gently, his occupational instincts taking over as his basic life support knowledge kicked in. Her eyes were closed,

"Hey, lass, can you hear me? It's Arthur," He coaxed, tilting her head back to open her airway. He looked on to see the rise and fall of her stomach, and felt her laboured and rapid breathing against his cheek. He brushed her bangs away from where they had stuck to her forehead and her skin was clammy and hot to touch there. She came round a little at his voice, her eyes fluttering open and releasing baby blue. Her mouth worked for a moment as she appeared to grasp at something, before relaxing,

"Hello, love, can you hear me?" He asked again, and her eyes were fixed on some place far away. She didn't respond to his verbal cue. 

"Okay, dear, don't worry." He reassured her. The officer picked up her limp hand and placed it against her cheek before rolling her gently onto her side. Her breath left a fog on the laminate flooring. He walked quickly over to the bed and wrapped the blanket around her before running to the window and throwing open the curtains. He watched a Honda Civic pull up to the pavement, squeezing into the spaces between cars. He unlocked the window and pushed it open as the drizzle met his face.

"Sakura!" He shouted, and the raven-haired Japanese woman looked up as she stepped out, smoothing her pastel blue NHS scrubs. Her hair was polka straight even as the spray met it, and she glanced up at the bedroom window with small but keen eyes,

"Is everything alright?" She enquired, squinting up against the tiny droplets of rain. The man shook his head gravely,

"Come straight up, the door is open." He called into the street. The woman nodded once and reached into the back seat of her car to pull out her bag. Arthur shut the window as she ran for the door. 

Sakura stood at just 5ft 2, but her shiny, bob-cut dark hair, small and sweet face, and slim figure made her look even smaller than that. Couple that with the baggy NHS tunic and Sakura looked no older than sixteen, an age that actually belied her twenty-two years. The woman usually radiated reserved calmness, and was incredibly polite, but that personality seemed to leave her as she entered the room. She took one look at the girl's condition and sprang into action. 

"Is she breathing?" Was her first question as she set down her bag,

"Yes, she's breathing. Laboured and rapid, though." He answered,

"How long has she been like this?" Was her second, as she fumbled about in her bag. She pulled out a pair of gloves as Arthur answered,

"She's been asleep since 5 o'clock this morning, and I've not heard hide nor hare of her since. I came to check her not ten minutes ago when I found her like this." Sakura slipped on the gloves and began to check Amelia's vitals, pressing two fingers to the radial pulse point at her wrist. Whatever she found there didn't please her, but she didn't elaborate. She then moved a hand under the prone girl's shirt to touch her collarbone, and didn't like what she found there either.

"Where is this cut?" She prompted, and Arthur directed her to the girl's ankle, pulling away the bed sheet. He gestured to the dressing he had applied earlier, and the woman set about unwinding it. It was extremely difficult to surprise Sakura, but as she removed the gauze Arthur watched her face twist into a cringe. She pulled off her gloves and reached for her phone, tapping the keypad three times and holding it to her ear. The dial tone could be heard in the quiet room, until Amelia began to babble senselessly. Arthur moved back to her side,

"Hello, I'd like an ambulance, please." She said urgently into the receiver, and Arthur's head shot up,

"No, what are you doing?!" He hissed at her, only to be met with a forefinger in his direction. 

"Yes, hello. I have the patient in front of me. She is semi-concious and breathing rapidly. Her pulse is faint and her temperature is high. She has a large wound on her right ankle, around 5 inches in length, and it's infected. I feel she may have blood poisoning." She said, and paused while she confirmed a few other things with the person on the phone. They must have asked for his address, because she gave it to them with no issues. She said her thanks and turned back to Arthur, hanging up the phone. 

"Why did you ring the bloody paramedics?! I told you, she won't see a professional!" He fumed, and Sakura got to her feet,

"That should not be of any importance and right now she has no choice. Unfortunately, her life is on the line if she avoids treatment any longer and I cannot allow that to happen, nor can you." The ravenette implored, and Arthur looked down at the girl who was now still with her eyes closed.

"Who is this girl, Arthur-san? And why is she in Alfred's room?" The Japanese woman asked. The man bristled at the mention of his dead brother, and Arthur sighed; explaining this was about to get him judged harshly.

"She broke into my house at two this morning, looking for food. When I determined she wasn't a threat, I offered her a place to stay for the rest of the night on the premise that you would treat her ankle. I suggested she go to A&E but it freaked her out big time, so I cleaned it and dressed it and let her sleep." He admitted, bashfully. The nurse's eyebrow may have twitched, but Arthur could have imagined it. 

"I see." She replied, "And what is her name and date of birth?"

"I... I don't actually know how old she is, but her name is Amelia," He answered, and if Sakura was unimpressed by his lack of knowledge about the girl, then she didn't let it show.

"Okay. Please could you wait outside for the paramedics to arrive? I will keep an eye on your, um, friend." She said, and Arthur left the room.

The paramedics arrived within fourty-five minutes and Arthur lead them up. He watched them go through the same process of speaking to the girl, asking her questions she didn't answer. Sakura answered most of them with that calm confidence she had always had, helping the two men out with anything she could. The scene looked all too familiar, a bit too close to things he had seen before, on people he knew and people he didn't, in houses across the city and on busy roads and streets. One of them approached him,

"Miss Amelia is her name, correct?" He asked, seeming from Eastern Europe and Arthur nodded. The paramedic checked his paperwork, and flipped over the page,

"Do you know her date of birth?" He asked again,

"No clue," He responded, "I'd say she's about twenty from her face and mannerisms, though." The paramedic nodded, before glancing at Arthur through his bangs,

"You ought to be pleased you found her when you did. She is extremely malnourished, and although signs of the blood poisoning are difficult to detect without the proper tests, we are treating it as such with reference to her ankle. We're are treating it aggressively with vasopressors and antibiotics, but if it had been left much longer she would have died, hm? That wound must have been very dirty for a long time. We'll need to get her into hospital either way, she'll need an IV as I fear her electrolyte levels are low too." He briefed to him, and Arthur ran a hand across his face. 

"Of course. Whatever she needs, I'll go with her." He said, and both men disappeared downstairs to fetch their gear to move her into the ambulance. They came back with a slide sheet, and rolled her onto it, then lifted her onto the stretcher. They strapped her in and began to carry her downstairs. He made after them, and Sakura followed until they were at the back of the ambulance. He watched them settle the girl and inject her with more fluids when Sakura put her hand on his arm. He turned to meet her concerned gaze,

"Arthur-san, I understand that your occupation may make you feel as if you are invincible, but please consider the danger you faced by allowing her into your home," She began, "Even though you seem to not think so, there are a lot of people who think highly of you, and you have a very solid support network. You have not made use of it since well before Alfred's death," 

Arthur frowned, "Just what are you getting at?" 

"All I am saying is perhaps you should talk to us instead of taking in girls like Amelia-san off the street. I know you have a big heart and that loneliness is a difficult feeling to get used to, but there are ways of going about it safely." Sakura finished, and Arthur shook his head,

"I'm not lonely, Sakura." He lied, "And no, my job doesn't make me feel invincible. Quite the opposite actually. As for the girl, I would prefer it if you decided to reserve your thoughts and feelings on her. You have seen the girl unconcious, that's hardly qualifies as a judge of character-" He began, and the Japanese woman slid her hand down his arm to grip his fingers,

"I am worried for you." She said and then gave him a tight smile. Arthur closed his fingers around hers and rubbed the back of the hand with his free one. It was a friendly gesture, 

"Don't be. Worry about her." He said, and let go of his friend and once sister-in-law-to-be, to climb into the ambulance.


	4. Lilies

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello, it's me. Twice in one day. Yikes. This is what happens when I get a day off work. 
> 
> There's some details about Amelia's past in this one, as well as some flirting. Well, maybe lots of flirting.
> 
> Enjoy! 
> 
> Yuko

Black heels, dusty gravel, a long winding path, a knee-length black dress that caught the wind as it licked at her legs. There were people, oh so many people, wearing that one colour, all filing in behind her. Amelia felt the pressure to keep moving. She didn't want to. She wanted to turn and run, slam past her friends and acquaintances as the foreboding blue doors of the church advanced. Matthew had her hand in his and people surrounded her on both sides, yet she had never felt so alone. Trapped. She couldn't breathe. She glanced up at her brother. His shoulder length blonde hair wound into a ponytail as it caught the sun, sleek and straight save the curls at the end. A strand of hair that used to infuriate Amelia with its inability to conform to the rest of his hairstyle hung over his face. It didn't make her angry now, it didn't even matter. Her brother's kind features tiled towards her, stiffly in his tie, suit jacket and waistcoat, and he offered his little sister a sympathetic smile. His vibrancy was gone that day. She sucked in a breath, chest aching and apologised over and over in her head. _I'm sorry, Mattie. I'm so, so sorry._ Her father had gone on ahead, she could make out his blonde hair, eyes downcast as he shook hands with the vicar. Despite the girl's better judgement, her brother dragged her through the threshold. The coffin lay ahead, and the girl refused to look. It was almost like a game she had played with the monsters under her bed as a kid, 'if you don't acknowledge it, it will go away'. It didn't go away. The hardwood was there, draped in white flowers, and her heart sank to see the picture they had chosen to sit atop it. Her mother's smiling face greeted her, and she wanted to knock it down, stamp on it and scream at it until her voice got hoarse. It wasn't true. It couldn't be true. She knew it was, she was there as it happened. She didn't remove the picture or assault its innocent cardboard form, she let Matthew herd her into the pew seats instead. The ceremony didn't start until everyone was seated. The vicar droned in monotonous tones, about how 'an angel was lost', and 'a soul was reborn'. His disembodied voice did nothing to relieve Amelia's mood; he had no right to speak about the most amazing person she had ever known as if he was her best friend. She kicked out her legs to cross them. Her father stood to say a few words, his blonde hair tied gently at his neck with a black ribbon. The fitted suit he wore was such a stark contrast to his usual vibrancy of colour, and Amelia wondered when he began to look so old.

The scene faded into lilies, white lilies, and Amelia felt the velvet of their pristine petals as she walked past. She held the precious flower between her hands as she lifted them up to smell their perfume. They smelt bittersweet, and the girl wanted to vomit. They were blank states, all of them, ready for something new. She didn't want new, she wanted the old times. Holding hands with her mother as they skipped over rocks, laughing down at her mother and brother as she sat on her father's shoulders on day trips to the beach, coming home from middle school to sit at the table a complete impossible math equations, rolling on the floor with laughter as her family tickled her sides, photos of snowmen in their back garden. Her insides writhed with dark, ugly jealousy as she watched her younger self in her mind's eye. Black dress, white lilies. Black Dress, white lilies. She wanted to scream and cry and have a fit and breakdown. _You can't,_ she told herself, _you have guests_. She turned around at the notion, hair and dress flowing as if she was in deep space. She looked for a person, and saw none there. She followed the feeling, chasing it as if running through quicksand. She struggled, pushed and sank deeper until she stood in the living room of her home. The dress was gone, and replaced with a white t-shirt and jeans that where ripped stylistically at the knees. The smash of a bottle above her head made her duck instinctively, the ear-spitting shatter reverberating through her bones. She unfurled herself, paying no mind to the stinging smell of alcohol on her clothes, to be met with an ferocious angry face. 

  
  


The sweetness was gone from her father's blue eyes, replaced only with the red, hazy rage of alcohol. Matthew grabbed him and he fell to the floor in his drunken stupor, 

"It was your fault, you little shit! If she hadn't have had you ungrateful bastards then she'd still fucking be here! We'd have been so fucking happy!" He bellowed, French accent thicker due to his inebriated state.

"Dad, stop it!" Cried Matthew, attempting to hold his father's arms as he flailed wildly to shove him off. Amelia felt her back at the wall as she dug her fingers into the cherry-red wallpaper. Her breathing was ragged and skittish. She pushed off and ducked behind the sofa and into the pouch. She grabbed the first pair of shoes she could find, and her grandfather's bomber jacket from his time spent in the war. 

"Amy, wait!" Her big brother shouted after her as she fumbled with the door latch, "Amelia!"

"I can't stay here anymore Mattie! I'm going insane!" She screamed at him, and the door flew open. He jumped the sofa, leaving the intoxicated man to try to get himself off the floor, and snagged her around the waist in restraint. She clawed at his hands, scratching at his skin until he let go. Her older brother, her hero. He couldn't protect her from this.

"Amelia, it's February! You'll freeze!!" He shouted from the front door,

"I fucking hope I do!" She shouted back as the house faded from view. 

\--

Amelia regained consciousness quickly, and it was no wonder why. The vivid lights overhead assaulted her vision and set about irritating the throbbing pain somewhere in the back of her head. She groaned as she sat up and took in her surroundings. There was a metallic taste in her mouth as she licked her dry lips. The room was not recognisable at all; rather, the blue walls seemed corrugated in texture, jutting out in some places like a zigzag. They fluttered when a shadow moved behind them, and there were odd sounds coming from the other side. Beeping, shuffling and the occasional laughter and chitchat. She rubbed her baby blues and frowned when something tugged at her skin. She saw an intravenous cannula sticking out of the back of her hand, secured by microporous tape. She followed the clear tube up onto a stand where it hung limply. The clear bag read 'SALINE SOLUTION' then some numbers she couldn't make out. This wasn't Arthur's house at all, and looking on towards the end of the bed she saw a white bed frame with some kind of document hanging from it. She sighed. _Hospital. Great_ . She had no clue how she had ended up here; she had showered and fell asleep in Arthur's spare room, feeling safe and warm for the first time in a long time. The next thing she knew she had woken up, unable to move and burning like the surface of the sun, to violent knocking at the door. She knew something wasn't right and in a fever-induced panic, she had slung herself out of the bed and onto the floor to crawl its parameter and throw the key under the door. She had vaguely remembered trying to call out Arthur's name, but her vocal chords seized with the effort. Then, nothing. She turned to her left to see a window cut into the clinical white walls and watched the goings on around the grounds from the bed. The rumble of traffic and car horns could be heard in the distance despite the double glazing, and the people below were coming and going about the entrance. Some were pushing relatives in wheelchairs, others were clutching tightly to their loved ones, and a minute few were gathered around a bench to have a cigarette. Her brows drew over her eyes as she watched them; Amelia had never liked hospitals, and saw them as a place of great pain and suffering. She had more than one notable bad experience in them, like how she had dislocated her shoulder falling off a merry go around near her childhood home in America. It had taken them ages to set it, and she remembered clinging to her mother's arms as the doctors did their work. The memories of her mother's hushed words broke her dream. The funeral, the lilies and the fight that had induced her abrupt vacancy from her remaining family had all played out in her subconscious mind while he slept. _A fever dream,_ she realised and spent a few moments replaying it in her mind when she heard the scrape of the curtain hooks across the rail,

"Oh! You're awake," Came a voice. She smiled widely at the British accent and turned to face Arthur. He was dressed casually in a collared, green plaid shirt, layered over with a dark green wooly jumper and a pair of jeans. He was rubbing hand sanitizer into his hands and looked surprised to see her,

"Regrettably," She mused with a smile, and he frowned. She forgot he was hard to joke with,

"I wouldn't say that, if I were you. You nearly didn't make it through the first night." He said, wiping the excess alcohol rub on his trousers. She cocked her head, 

"Your heart rate dropped so low they were going to do CPR, but they got it back." He elaborated, and she made a noise of interest. 

"Are you _compos mentis_ now?" He asked and she pulled a face, not understanding the phrase,

"What's that mean?" She asked as he sat down, flicking a hand at her,

"British saying. It means 'are you sound of mind?'... Basically I'm asking how you feel." He finished, exasperated by her blank expression.

"Oh! Why didn't you just say that? Yes, I feel a lot better, thank you." She responded with a grin. It was certainly true; Amelia felt really well, and admittedly more human than she had done in a long time.

"I can't tell you how glad I am to hear that. You were babbling like a lunatic for most of yesterday. You certainly look a lot better than you did last time I saw you." He admitted, and fished something out of his pocket while the American tried to decide whether that was a compliment or not. He handed her something in a purple wrapper. She stared at it in delight,

"Is that…" She began,

"Dairy Milk? Yes it is." He finished, and the bar was whipped out of his hands before he could comprehend that it was gone. He watched fondly as she unwrapped the sweet chocolate bar, and then in disgust as she took the biggest bite out of it. The taste was like honey to her senses, soothing and syrupy, and she moaned.

"Oh my God, Arthur, I could kiss you," She said, covering her mouth while she spoke. He blanched and raised his eyebrows,

"Yes, well, please don't, Miss Amelia Frances Jones, nineteen years old." He muttered, pulling out the chocolate bar he had bought for himself. She froze around her mouthful and covered her face in her hands, face flushing red with embarrassment at the sound of her middle name.

"That is _so_ not fair," She fumed, making sure to note down the names of the admittance staff so she could put them in her imaginary burn book. He smiled and poked her ribs,

"It's nice to meet you. I'm Arthur Kirkland, twenty-three." He mused.

  
  


Arthur was filling her in on everything that had occurred two nights prior, omitting no details about what had happened. She had caught a bacterial infection in the open wound on her ankle that had, for obvious reasons, been left untreated for too long. According to Arthur, she had developed cellulitis in the area surrounding it, which had resulted in sepsis the longer it was left untreated. To make things worse, her body was so dehydrated and undernourished that it had compromised her immune system's ability to fight it off. Thankfully, the sepsis had not done any critical damage to her organs as it had been caught early. Her fever had broken late last night, courtesy of the antibiotics, but she was left undisturbed by the hospital staff to sleep. He recounted how he had found her two nights previous, and how Sakura had called the ambulance.

"I asked them not to notify your next of kin." He stated, and she regarded him suspiciously,

"As I said the other night, I don't know what you're running from and I might never know, but I just wanted to make sure you had that choice. It's at your discretion, but I'm just letting you know that they will ask you about it." He said, folding his arms,

"The answer will be no." She left no room for arguments. He nodded, and didn't bring it up again as he talked some more about her nights in hospital. During their conversation, a nurse came through the curtains. She was a small, East Asian lady with short, shiny hair framing her round face. They both looked up at her entrance,

"I could hear you chatting. It's nice to see you looking better, Amelia-san. You seem to have regained your senses very well," She spoke quietly, voice soothing. Amelia watched as Arthur rose from his chair to pat the woman on the shoulder,

"This is Sakura, the one I told you about. She's a nurse on this ward, and she's been keeping an eye out for you when she's been on shift," He said, smiling at her gratefully. Amelia smiled at her too, and held out her hand, 

"It's so nice to meet you, and thank you for saving my life. You two are, like, real life superheroes. They should put you in comic books." She spoke, as they shook hands. The Japanese woman flushed at the praise and suddenly went very shy,

"L-likewise. I am just carrying out my duty, there is no need for appraisal," She said, then: "Now that you are awake, I'm sure you would like to go home. I will check your vitals and, as soon as you've eaten a meal and walked about a bit, I'm sure you will be allowed to leave." 

  
  


Amelia had all but inhaled breakfast, and Arthur was certain she would've ran down the corridors if her ankle allowed for it. She didn't however, and spent most of the time holding onto Arthur for support. He was more than happy to oblige her the help, although listening to her whine about how frustrating it was not to walk properly was a different story completely. She had asked him to let go of her after a while, and she walked to the end of the corridor and back unaided. She seemed different than before; extensively more talkative and bubbly, and definitely more lively. Her previously washed out skin now seemed richer and pinker than before, and her face, arms and legs had filled out slightly. She seemed so much better than that first night, and it pleased him to see so. Once they returned to the ward, the doctor had checked the girl over and she was permitted to leave on the advice that she continue taking oral antibiotics. He wrote her a prescription, and she left in clean clothes, from Arthur's house, and headed to the pharmacy on the ground floor. She fiddled with the drawstring at the waistband of Arthur's jogging bottoms while they waited, and before they knew it, they were headed for the tube to Harlesden. The stairs proved difficult on her ankle, and she needed help again. People instinctively gave the pair a wide berth as they stepped onto the platform. They got on the Bakerloo line, and Arthur secured Amelia between himself and the doors as the busy carriage pulled out of the station. He caught her when she stumbled as the train slowed at each of its assigned stops, trying to prevent her from putting too much pressure on the appendage. As the line moved further from Central London, the carriage emptied until there were enough seats free for the two of them. They sat and watched the black bricks become trees and houses as their stop approached.

  
  


They reached Arthur's home with no further issues, and Arthur ushered the girl inside,

"Nope, you're staying until you finish those antibiotics." He said, pressing a hand to her back to coax her in,

"Aw, come on, I've already intruded enough. I'll be fine, seriously!" She informed him,

"You're seriously considering going back to all that after everything that's happened?" He enquired, "You're more of an idiot than I thought," 

She puffed out her cheeks, "Shut up. I'll just be more careful, you know? Like, not sleep near sharp objects and stuff," 

"No. Get inside, or I'll carry you in." He threatened, and the girl folded her arms in defiance. He shrugged and made a move to throw her over his shoulder until she squealed and hurried inside. He stepped in after her with an evil chuckle before closing the door. 

"Meanie," She called from the kitchen,

"Muppet," He retorted, and she popped her head from the door frame, offended,

"You tryna say I look like Kermit the Frog, now?" 

"You look like summart, that's for sure." He teased. She shook her head and disappeared. He was having too much fun winding her up. He heard the kettle click on as he removed his coat and hung it on the hanger. A cup of tea was just what he needed. 

  
  


The evening came quicker than he expected. 7 o'clock rolled around as they were watching rubbish television. Amelia had gone upstairs to change her (his) clothes before bed, and he stood to grab his uniform out of the ironing basket. He went into the kitchen to shrug it on, fastening up his long sleeved white shirt, fashioning his tie into a knot, and clipping his vest over his shoulders. He pulled his hat from the top of the fridge and slipped it on. He grabbed his utility belt and double checked it contained all of his necessary equipment. He moved into the hallway to check his appearance in the mirror, and decided he should probably comb his hair a bit more. It didn't look that bad, really. He turned to the stairs to call the girl and ask her to bring the comb down out of the bathroom, but he only got as far as saying her name. She stood stock still and slightly afraid at the top of the stairs, eyeing him frightened.

"You alright there?" He asked, perplexed,

"You're a police officer?" She asked, and he nodded. Silence followed, and a grin grew on his face,

"You didn't know, did you?" He asked, and she flushed bright red as she slowly shook her head. She crumpled,

"I broke into a police officer's house?!" She cried, he chuckled at her mini breakdown,

"You certainly did. I'll see you tomorrow, love." He said with a wave, and left the house. 


	5. Domesticity

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello guys! I'm so sorry I didn't update yesterday, so here's a longer chapter to make up for it! I was celebrating with my family over some good news, so I couldn't really commit to anything. Please keep those comments coming, you guys make me smile so freaking much. I love it. 
> 
> We see a new person come in, some domestic fluff and Amelia has something to say. 
> 
> Enjoy!
> 
> Yuko

Arthur returned from work at half past eight the next morning to the smell of toast and cooking eggs. It made his stomach growl angrily; he wasn't sure why, but the smell of toast always made him hungry even if he had eaten a large meal. There was a sizzling sound echoing from the kitchen, and he removed his hat to place it on the sideboard. He kicked out the drizzle by shutting the front door with his foot, and set about removing his kit. He rolled it all up and deposited on top of his hat, yawning with the effort of a twelve hour night shift. Under the hazy gaze of sleep, he kicked off his shoes and made his way into the kitchen. The sizzling increased in volume and the smell grew more potent as he popped his head around the door frame. Amelia was propped against the stove with a spatula in hand, wearing one of his white t-shirts and a pair of his navy-blue shorts again, something she seemed to find comfortable, and was shaking the frying pan; there were two porcelain plates situated on the side, and a butter knife lay atop one. The blue light of the toaster was on, and it was releasing the most delicious smells into the house. The radio was playing, something Arthur had totally forgot he owned, tinkling away in the background as the show host spoke about the grotty weather that was currently the norm. He announced a song, something from the early 2000s, and she leaned over to turn the radio up. He watched her shuffle from foot to foot to the beat of it, slightly awkward due to the bandage peeking out from under his socks. She was humming, and Arthur looked on in calm amusement as the humming became rambunctious singing. He cringed; she was off-key and tone deaf, but it was sort of endearing in a way only she could be. He paused, catching his train of thought. _Endearing? What the hell am I thinking?_ He shoved the notion so far to the back of his mind he hoped it would get lost. He cleared his throat, and the girl spun around. He had only just realised her hair was wet,

"Good morning!" She said, a bit too chipper for his sleep-logged mind. She turned the radio down and he nodded to her in response before she turned her attention to the toaster, which clanged as it ejected two pieces of toast. She abandoned the spatula to fumble with the hot bread and place it on the plate. She spread on some margarine, and picked up the spatula again to slice one of the two fried eggs down the middle. She scooped it up and lay it delicately over the toast, setting the plate further away,

"That one's yours if you want it," She said, "If not, that's more for me," 

"T-thank you," He muttered, reaching over to pull the plate off the side. It looked and smelt so delicious that he contemplated even needing a knife and fork. He wondered if it was possible to shove the food in his mouth all at once without breaking his jaw. The blonde turned to the supermarket's own brand loaf of bread and inserted two more slices into the toaster. 

"Don't mention it," Amelia responded absentmindedly, flicking oil over the remaining egg with the spatula. 

She joined him in the living room a few moments later, as she sat down beside him on the couch to eat. Arthur was already three quaters finished, and it was pleasently quiet save for their munching. 

"How was your night catching the criminals of London?" She asked cheekily, as he placed his knife and fork on the plate, leant back on the sofa and sighed with content,

"Uneventful," He said, debating the use of the word 'quiet' lest he jinx his next shift, "It's a weekend, so it was full of drunk people mostly. It's all well and good getting sloshed, but not when you've got to pick up the pieces." Amelia swallowed thickly, eyes turning dark and losing their colour momentarily. She seemed to relive something that Arthur couldn't see as she hummed in agreement. _Okay, so alcohol has something to do with her situation_ , he thought, and wondered if he should push her. _Change the subject, she'll open up when she's ready_ , he thought.

"How did you get this stuff? Last time I checked there was only Carling in the fridge." He mused, gesturing to the food she was pushing around her plate. She looked up,

"I found the two pound coin that an officer gave me the night I broke in. It rolled right under the sideboard, so I fished it out with a fork and then went down to the convenience store before you came home," She said, holding up her fork to demonstrate how she freed the penny. 

"That's right, I remember it falling from your pocket," 

"Yeah. You've been so nice to me that I thought I should do something for you too, though cooking breakfast it's no comparison to babysitting me," She teased, cheeks pink, and the man shook his head,

"I'm not babysitting you at all," 

"You kinda are, but I do appreciate it," Arthur stood and collected her now-empty plate, stacking it on top of his own, 

"Then without sounding like a babysitter, did you take your antibiotic this morning?" He asked, he watched as her expression changed to one of realisation. She scrambled up from the couch,

"See? Babysitter. And leave the plates, go to bed," She instructed, trying to take the plates from him. He held them above her head,

"I'm off tomorrow, if I sleep I'll be up all night. Go and take those tablets and I'll sort out the rest," He countered, and she made off into the kitchen. The tap turned on and he heard the sound of a glass filling. She came back with the tablet in hand,

"I'll go and find you some of my warmer clothes to wear," He said, watching her take the tablet with water. The American raised an eyebrow,

"Why?" 

"'Because we need to go food shopping. Desperately." 

She frowned, "Wait, 'we'?" 

"Yes. We, me and you, you and me. I don't know what food you like, so your input would be helpful," 

  
  


\--

The plates were cleaned, and the unlikely duo changed into warmer clothes. Arthur was happy enough to get out of his uniform, and Amelia was indifferent to the baggy t-shirt, jogging bottoms and oversized trainers that accommodated her still-swollen feet. She had loved fashion before she had walked out on her family, remembering her wardrobe full of clothes back in the day, but for some reason or another it had been surprisingly easy to get used to wearing the older man's clothes. She had taken some painkillers on the way out to ease the dull ache emitted by her feet and bandaged ankle. Arthur had offered her one of the many coats in his collection and watched his large eyebrows draw down over his peridot eyes when she declined. She stepped out of the house and into the street, shutting the door behind her. The late-October air nipped at her face and fingers, smelling fresh with undertones of whipped up engine fumes from cars that had been stuttering and stalling. Arthur turned around, reusable bags in hand, and frowned at her again,

"You're wearing _that_?" He was referring to her trusty bomber jacket. She zipped it up,

"There's nothing wrong with it. I washed it." She defended, "Your washing machine is broken, by the way,"

"Yes, it's been that way for three months," He chided, "That thing doesn't look at all warm…" 

"Well it is. It kept my grandfather warm at 20,000 feet while he was kicking Germany's butt, so why wouldn't it keep me warm?" She enthused, and Arthur glanced at her quickly, not wanting to lose the opportunity to hear more about the girl's past and family life,

"Your grandfather was a US pilot in the second world war?"

"Not just any, the best! He used to sit me on his knee and say 'lil Amy, I dragged that nasty Hitler man back into Europe kicking and screaming'. He was truly an inspiration, a hero." She finished, eyes sparkling with pride. Arthur looked at her incredulously, 

"Well, here I was, thinking you couldn't get any more patriotic with a birthday on the 4th of July, but I stand corrected," He shoved his hand into his pocket, making his way down the street with her following after him,

"There's nothing wrong with loving your heritage. What about you? Do you love London?" She asked,

"It has its moments, but I don't think I could see myself living anywhere else," He looked back at his house forlornly, and Amelia wasn't sure why his face gave off that particular emotion, "Apart from Spain, with my mum, I suppose. You get fed up of rain," He mused,

"Your mom lives in Spain?" Was the only thing she took from that,

"Yeah, she moved when Al and I were on our feet. Al was in uni and I joined the force. She married a man over there, they are disgustingly in love."

"Who's Al?" 

"Alfred. My baby brother." He finished, turning to her. She glanced up, as peridot met baby blue,

"You seemed like the type to have a sibling," 

"Why so?" He asked, and she turned straight ahead, walking slightly in front,

"You're very kind. You kinda remind me of my own brother," She said, but didn't elaborate. The Englishman was just happy about the fact she was beginning to open up. Amelia changed the subject as they made their way into the town centre, past the Jubilee Clock and the alleyway she had slept in the night she had broken in. She pointed it out to Arthur, and noted his horrified expression. The dirty alley cat that had kept her awake that fateful night jumped down from the roof to meow at them, and Amelia supposed that some things never changed. 

\--

They rode the tube fifteen minutes away to Willesden Green, a larger borough of Greater London than Harlesden. It was a little more middle class than the place they had travelled from, with luxurious red-brick Victorian structures towering in all their vintage glory. They were contrastingly dotted with modern buildings, angular edifices between the cylindrical bay windows. Cars chugged along the road that stretched over the street, and pedestrians of all shapes and sizes waited at crossings until the lights changed. Amelia noted that there were a lot more people milling around here than Harlesden; Londoners dived in and out of the shops, bars and restaurants that sprang from the station, and she looked to Arthur for a bit of support. 

"God, it's busy today," She heard him mumble as he reached for her hand. She reached back and took it gratefully as he led her through the dense throng that exited the station. The interchange continued to profusely pump people out of its barriers like a beating heart, as they made their way into a quieter part of the town centre. She followed him up High Road, past lots of smaller business and large restaurant chains until they came to a supermarket with large orange lettering above its automatic doors. It was one of the big supermarket chains that had stores dotted across the city. She watched Arthur pull a trolley coin from the pocket of his jeans and insert it into the mechanism. It freed the chain connecting it to the one in front and Amelia, now holding the reusable bags, deposited them into the cart. There was a woman far off reprimanding her naughty children for not holding onto the pushchair. They made their way into the fresh fruits and vegetables section, Amelia pointing out rich, green vegetables and asking Arthur his opinion. They decided, after much dispute, to just get potatoes. 

The Briton and the American wandered around, making jokes, teasing and grabbing random things off the stacked shelves, as they navigated the shopping hall using the numbers hanging from the ceilings. The male blonde paused at the clothing aisle, and watched as the girl eyed them wistfully. He looked down at the trolley, at the food they had placed inside its metal framework and hummed, doing a quick mental calculation. If his unlikely houseguest was going to stay for a few more days then there were going to be things she needed, including clothes. As sweet as it was to see her in his baggy t-shirts all the time, he reckoned it was high time the girl got herself something she liked to wear, or some pyjamas at the very least. Not only that, but the girl would need soaps and shampoos and that monthly thing they dealt with, probably. He didn't have a clue about what products women used, but he figured it was probably time to find out.

"If you want to get something, I don't mind," He said, gesturing to the clothes,

"I really don't think so, look at the prices. I know nothing about your financial situation, but I do know that this is too much for you to spend on something that isn't permanent." She stated, and Arthur was taken aback by her sudden, out of character maturity. _She's an enigma_ , he thought. Amelia was right though; this particular supermarket chain was known for their expensive clothes. They looked really good, and the blonde could already see a few things he thought would look nice on her,

"Look, if you need it, I'm not bothered," He said, making it his final decision. Amelia tapped her chin with a slender finger,

"Where's the sale?" She asked,

Without a fitting room, the most the blonde could do was browse the racks and pull out the things she liked. She chose three outfits, all warm and suitable for the current climate. Arthur was shocked at her attention to detail, analysing all the patterns and cuts of certain items, and even more surprised that she had spent under £25. She asked him to walk away for a bit when they reached the underwear section, and he gladly found himself in the men's aisle, acting like he wasn't completely embarrassed at the thought of a girl he hardly knew buying underwear. _You fool,_ he chastised himself, _it's underwear. Everybody wears it._ She found him a few minutes later, hiding the garments under the clothes she had purchased. She lay them in the trolley, and they continued to shop. She thanked him profusely for his kindness, and he swatted her away with his hand. They hadn't got much further through the store when Arthur stopped very abruptly and tried to turn the cart around the other way. Amelia eyed him as if he was a lunatic,

"Shit, shit, shit!" He whispered,

"What's going on? Did you forget something?" She asked, totally perplexed. She looked around the store to see what might have triggered his behaviour but was met only by fellow shoppers and their respective methods of carrying their goods. He tried to grab the t-shirt she was wearing to turn her around, but she stumbled,

"Arthur, what's the problem, dude?" She hissed, trying to pry his fingers off. She was panicking now; what exactly was he playing at?

"Amelia, please, I'm begging you - just walk," He urged, and she did as he instructed, but it was too late,

"Arthur!" Came a voice from behind. She eyed her companion, and watched his large shoulders sink as he sighed and rolled his green eyes. She spun around to meet the owner of the voice to see a silver haired man bounding over, trolley in hand. He jumped on the cart, using just his hands as means of steering it in their direction and jumping down when it came a few inches from Arthur's legs. 

" _Mein gott,_ I'd call you a sight for sore eyes but we just spent the whole night together!" The man enthused, clapping a very irritated Arthur on the shoulder. As the man had got closer, Amelia noticed his eyes were red as roses, and his hair was white as snow. His skin was fair and pale, his face sharp and well-structured, but his mischievous smile was infectious,

"Well, I guess looking at you for twelve hours made them sore in the first place, so you owe me an apology." And the man guwaffed out one of the most unique laugh the blonde had ever heard.

"Yes, hello, Gilbert," Arthur sighed, and the man grinned. It was all teeth, pearly and white. The newcomer's eyes drifted from Arthur's to catch Amelia's gaze, and he leant against their shared trolley,

"Well, hello, little eyes. You come here often?" He called, and received a smack in the chest from the British man,

"Piss off, she's not interested." He hissed, and Gilbert fixed him with an astounded grin,

"No freaking way, you got yourself a lady?! _Du Hurensohn_ , I didn't think you had it in you!" He cried, then clapped slowly in front of Arthur's face. The Englishman swatted his hands away,

"She's not my 'lady', arsehole. Her name is Amelia, she's just staying with me for a few days, she's been unwell,"

"You take the fun out of everything, you wet dishcloth," He blew a raspberry. Amelia had stood there awkwardly during their entire exchange, looking from one male to the other as if it was some sort of verbal tennis match,

"You sure she's not your lady? 'Cause she's most definitely gorgeous enough to be mine," The silver haired man said with a wink, 

"Gil, we may both be officers, but I can still get you done for harassment if you don't leave her alone," Arthur implored,

"I mean, I feel pretty harassed…" Amelia spoke up. It seemed like the wrong idea, as Gilbert grinned yet again, looking between the two of them,

"Oh ho, you like American chicks? I'm learning more about you every single day, partner!" He said, slapping his back. 

"Don't you have shopping to do?" Arthur asked through gritted teeth, and the man nodded,

"I do, so I'll take my leave now. Goodbye Arthur, and goodbye my schönes Mädchen!" He called as he sped off down the aisle. Arthur ran a hand across his face in relief, and Amelia stared after the peculiar man. 

"Who the hell was that?" She enquired,

"My work colleague and one of my two partners,"

"Wow, you really mix in funny circles," She mused,

"Just be grateful you didn't meet Matthias. When they get together they do my head in, big time," Arthur stated, and they continued on.

\--

Coming home had been a little trickier than getting there, as the morning's events seemed to catch up with a groggy Arthur Kirkland. He had fallen asleep on the way back, only to drag himself up the stairs of Willesden Junction station and back into the Harlesden air. Amelia wasn't fairing too well either, as the pain killers she had taken before they left had worn off. To top it off, the early afternoon rain had crept up on them without warning. They were soaked upon returning to the Brit's house. They collapsed onto the sofa after putting the shopping away in its respective cupboard and each released a sigh respectively. Amelia set about drying her hair with one of the warm towels Arthur had pulled out of the boiler cupboard, eyeing the developing curls disdainfully. She got back up again after an hour to start dinner, much to Arthur's heavy protestations, and came back with two plates of spaghetti and meatballs. Arthur removed his glasses, sighed, set aside some paperwork he was looking over to receive the meal gratefully, and they sat down once again to eat. 

"Is that work stuff?" The girl asked around a string of pasta. Her companion shook his head and swallowed his food,

"They're forms for the landlord. I'm moving out soon," He responded. Amelia's heart dropped hearing this, she felt her stomach turn uncomfortably. He was moving out? 

"What? Why?"

"I can't afford to live here anymore," He said, looking around the living room with a closed off expression, "It was different when Alfred lived here, we got by on both of our income, but he's not here anymore and it's getting very tricky to keep a house in London," He finished,

"But you like it here, right? You said you couldn't live anywhere else!" She was met with a shrug,

"You know yourself that you've got to do what you can to live," 

Amelia didn't like that answer. Not one bit. This man had been so very kind to her over the past week. He was like no one she had ever known; he had made sure she felt safe, fed her, clothed her and even saved her life. He hadn't pushed her to open up about her past, hadn't asked her invasive questions. He had been an all round respectable gentleman with regards to her situation, and now he was in difficulties of his own. Their conversation from earlier played on repeat. She didn't want him to leave behind something he loved, he didn't deserve that. She didn't know how or why Alfred had left, but her incredibly strong sense of justice compelled her to do something to help the man who had helped her. She thought quietly for a moment, watching her bomber jacket and his coat drying on the radiator. There was something about it that just seemed so _right_ ; they had found the most unlikely of friendships in such a hopeless situation, a homeless girl and a policeman for god sake, and Amelia felt it necessary to make it up to him. She thought about his words on the night they met, and fixed the man with a strong gaze,

"I have a proposition for you, Arthur." She stated, and the man looked up with trepidation, slightly surprised at the use of his own words,

"Go on…" The roles had reversed. 

"You can stay here, in your own home, for as long as you want, under one condition," She began, judging his expression. His peridot eyes gave nothing away,

"I find a job, and you make me your roommate."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Props to any of my British readers who guessed the name of the supermarket they went to! I didn't want to mention it here for obvious reasons. The one I write about in Willesden doesn't actually stock clothes, but I added it for convenience purposes. Please forgive me!
> 
> Translation:  
> Mein Gott - my God  
> Du Hurensohn - son of a bitch  
> schönes Mädchen - beautiful girl


	6. Obligations

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm so sorry guys, I've been so busy at work. My hours have gone up now lots of people's families are returning to work. I hope you guys enjoy this chapter, please let me know if there are any issues. 
> 
> Sakura KNOWS, guys. She knows. By the way, there's gonna be some drama coming up soon....
> 
> Enjoy!
> 
> Yuko

The living room was dangerously quiet, with an atmosphere like a loaded gun. Arthur's eyes flicked quickly between Amelia's, searching for something that may have proved this was all a practical joke. He found no such notion, only steely determination. It was a good look on her. He looked to the black screen of the television, snorted, then looked back at her. No, she definitely was not joking. It had been over six months since Arthur had anybody but his own company in this house, and Amelia's whirlwind entry had been the only exception. He was perfectly used to being alone by now, used to the takeouts, the notion that things wouldn't get done if he didn't do them. Alone was okay, he supposed. The part of his mind that was battered and bruised by his younger brother's sudden death told him no.  _ No, don't go there. Alone is good _ , it reasoned,  _ alone is safe.  _ It wanted that bedroom door locked as soon as the girl was gone. The rational part of his mind was begging him to take the plunge, just go for it.  _ You are so much more cheerful with her around,  _ it told him,  _ you were turning into a cantankerous old git, Arthur, and you know it! _ Still, the girl wasn't joking; rather, she was looking for an answer from him. There was other things to consider too; the girl had no form of identification, no bank card or any of the kind of things needed to get a job in this day and age, let alone get the landlord to agree them joint tenancy,

"Are you sure you want to do that?" Arthur asked. It was more a question of concern than uncertainty, "Not to sound like a realist, Amelia, but… You have no paperwork with you. I mean, no ID, no national insurance number, no work visa-"

"I can contact the American Embassy to get that sorted." She met his protest. He considered her again, then sat with his head in his hands. She was too good at shutting down his arguments. He turned his head to regard her,

"You'd do that? For me?" He asked, almost timidly, and she nodded steadfastly,

"Arthur, not to sound like a broken record, but I am sincerely grateful for everything you've done for me. If this is what it takes to say thank you, then I'll do it ten times over," She admitted, and the man sighed, 

"I don't need a grand gesture of thanks like this, love. I did what I did for you because it was the right thing to do. My financial struggles are my own,"

"And I'm doing _this_ because it's the right thing to do. A problem shared is a problem halved," She reinstated. He was quiet for a bit, then seemed to relent. Her stubbornness was admirable, but he had a feeling it came with its problems too,

"Alright. If this is what you want, then I'll put you on the rent. But this isn't going to be easy, you know,"

"I know, but you're an awesome person, and awesome people deserve awesome things," She said. While the statement sounded childish, it was spoken with such sincerity that Arthur had to chuckle,

"That's an incredibly liberal use of the word awesome. Well," He stood up, and set aside his plate.  _ You're doing it _ , screamed that rational part of his mind with glee. He brushed down his jeans and held a hand out, for her to shake,

"I guess we're a team now. Welcome to our house, roommate." 

Amelia imitated his stance, shaking his hand firmly. He noted how warm her hands were compared to that night she had been shaking with the cold, and how sweet the word 'our' sounded to his ears.

"I'm glad to be here, roommate." She reported.

\--

The gloomy clouds had followed them into the next morning, and Arthur supposed that, by judging through the kitchen window, it wouldn't be long before the water-logged vapour bust as its seams. 

"How are you going to go about getting a job?" Arthur said, peering over his glasses. He was reassessing the paperwork now that Amelia had offered to help him out. The barely awake girl shrugged and stuffed a spoonful of corn flakes into her mouth, mulling the question over. She was leant against the counter, swamped by the night shirt they had purchased yesterday. Arthur pulled his glasses from his face and nibbled at one of the arms, considering the girl. She had gained a lot of weight since the night he first saw her, and was looking very healthy now that food had become a more regular part of her routine. It was no wonder, really; the blonde man observed her unwavering appetite and knew she was making up for lost meals. Her skin seemed to glow and her hair was beginning to look less straw-like, something that hadn't been possible the night they met, and he felt a bit of masculine pride at the ability to provide for her. Her doe eyes had taken on a new shade of life, and seemed to twinkle with vitality. Her cheeks were always rosy with energy, and her face had taken on a much more gentler shape. Her arms and legs had become less boney and more slender, her feet less bruised, and the bandage had gone to be replaced with a large plaster. Gilbert had been right, Amelia was truly, naturally beautiful, and he had hated him for saying so. Simply because the Britisher couldn't get it out of his head. He made an effort not to take in anymore of her appearance, feeling it was inappropriate, and looked back down at his papers. Said girl made a motion at him with her spoon, flicking milk onto the tiles of the kitchen floor,

"Do you know where I could start? I have worked before, when I was sixteen, but it was waitressing. I dunno if that'll cut it though, minimum wage doesn't pay all that much…" She trailed off, loading another spoonful. Arthur's eyes widened as he looked back up to her,

"You were a waitress? That's fantastic," He beamed, and Arthur saw her flinch before she gathered herself,

"Why is that good?" She asked, and he rose from his seat,

"Sakura's step-brother Yao owns a restaurant, and he's looking for staff all the time," Arthur mused, walking over to Amelia's position. She watched him, wondering why he had approached so suddenly, when he reached around her to pull his mobile phone from the outlet where it had sat charging for most of the night,

"I can ask him to consider you, if you want. You said you had experience, I think he'd be more than happy to oblige you," Arthur enthused; it was a very strange emotion on him, considering he was a bit of a stick in the mud at times. It made him appear more boyish and charming,

"And what if he doesn't? What if he hates me?" She asked genuinely. Arthur seemed fixated by his phone,

"He won't, trust me. Experienced staff are all anyone wants right now. You're good with people too, and that grumpy git owes me a favour anyway," 

Amelia frowned, "A lot of people owe you favours, huh? First Sakura, now her step-brother… How can I be sure you're not doin' some shady stuff?" 

"If you call looking after their dog Pochi every time they go galavanting back to their home countries 'shady', as you so put it, then yes, I am. I'm incredibly shady," He muttered, then turned to her, "Amelia, do you want this job or not? We can look somewhere else if you're not sure," 

The girl considered it for a second. It was nerve wracking, yes, but it was a start. Returning the kindness she had been shown and returning the money he had spent on her clothes was her priority, but she recalled how she had enjoyed waitressing and having her own money. She had saved up an awful lot before staying with that one friend who had gradually taken most of it away, then kicked her out when she had none left, and seeing that kind of money in her bank account was like drawing a moth to light. She could start again, here in a quiet corner of Greater London. Unknown and untraceable to her remaining family.

"Yeah, let's do it," She declared, and Arthur gave her that captivatingly charming smile again. She hid her pink cheeks in her breakfast, turning around to face away from him to contemplate her entire existence,

"I'll call him and ask him to pop round, so you'd better get dressed," He suggested, and the girl pulled a face,

"Can't I just say in my PJs for a bit?" She pleaded. Seemingly immune to the puppy dog eyes, he pointed a finger at her, then at the stairs,

"You. Dressed. Now." He fake-ordered, offering her a playful smile. She rolled her eyes and saluted at him mockingly,

"Yes, officer. Anything you say, officer."

"Good, you know your place," The wisecrack was met with a raspberry as Amelia disappeared upstairs.

\--

She returned to the ground floor of the abode a good thirty minutes later, wearing the black t-shirt and camouflage-print cargo pants she had bought the day previous. She donned her new white trainers with pride, and it made Arthur smile to see the girl so much more confident in her own clothes. If he had thought she looked good in the kitchen, she looked even better now. She entered the living room with an animated strut, hips swinging, and stood in front of the television where her roommate (roommate!) was watching reruns of Emmerdale with a cup of tea. She posed flamboyantly,

"Whatdya think?" She asked, and Arthur chuckled, not wanting to miss the opportunity,

"Where are your legs?" He asked around the rim of his mug. She looked down slightly alarmed, then flipped him the bird when it clicked. He laughed freely,

"Your jokes are shit," She fumed, and Arthur patted her shoulder as she sat down,

"You look great, honestly. Good choice. Does it feel better than wearing my clothes?" 

Surprisingly, she pulled a face,

"No, actually. Your clothes are really comfy, but I can't rely on you if I'm gonna be your roommate. Gotta be self-sufficient!" She articulated animatedly. Arthur shook his head with a smile. 

They waited a few minutes for the doorbell to ring. Amelia stood up to answer it, when Arthur gave held out a hand to stop her,

"Trust me, you don't want to answer that. I'll get it," He said, and made off into the hallway. He stood, bracing himself with a sigh. He was in  _ big  _ trouble. The blonde pulled open the portal and a very angry Chinese man began to curse,

"You British kids don't know what quiet is! I do a long shift and want to go to bed and I hear ' _scrape scrape scrape_ ' across the floor like nails on chalkboard! I hear fighting and shouting at 2 o'clock in the morning! Then you move furniture around like thunder and expect me to be fine with it? Well, no! No, I am not!" Yao exclaimed, all fingers in Arthur's face. The man's long hair flicked around as he fumed, the ponytail falling from his shoulder to hang behind him with the force of his scolding. His eyes, almond in both shape and colour, were seething with rage, thin eyebrows drawn down across his oddly youthful complexion. In addition, he stood three inches smaller. It made it very difficult for the Briton to take him seriously. Arthur's next door neighbour was consistently wise and mindful of his surroundings; he had collected a fantastical knowledge base that surpassed his thirty-three years, and his advice was always delivered at a high quality, a trait admired by so many people not just on their street, but also in his workplace. He was, however, notoriously easy to make angry. He wasn't sure whether it may be the stress of owning an immensely successful restaurant in the heart of the city, or whether he naturally had a short fuse. Today, Arthur was receiving his latest slap on the wrist. He looked beyond the fuming Chinese man to meet the rounder, softer eyes of Sakura, who was lurking a few centimetres away in a peach hoodie, scrawled with something in Japanese. She nodded her head upon meeting his gaze, and gestured apologetically to her step-brother. He looked on, towards the brick houses of the street and saw a couple walking their dog throw his guest a disapproving glance. It was no surprise, really. He was making a scene,

"...And you call yourself an officer and a gentleman! You should file a noise complaint  _ from _ yourself,  _ to  _ yourself!" The man was red-faced and panting when he had finished. The receiver opened the door wider,

"Good to see you, Yao. I apologise for my recent disturbances to your down-time. Would you like to come in?" He asked, gesturing into the house. The Chinese man hardly waited and stormed past, followed by Sakura who shuffled in behind him. He sighed before shutting the door, making his way to Amelia. She had stood up to shake hands with Yao, a smile on her face,

"It's nice to meet you, Mr. Wang. Arthur has said some very kind things about you. I want to apologise for causing you trouble by making so much noise; ultimately, it was my arrival that caused it in the first place." She said honestly, and it seemed to successfully deflate the man. He considered her, then Arthur. Said man gave him a sheepish smile, and the Chinese man thought for a few minutes, before holding a confident hand out to Amelia. She smiled as she shook it,

"So you are Amelia?" He asked,

"The one and only," She offered with a wink that made her roommate clear his throat. The Japanese woman, who had stood in the hallway, eyed her friend with perplexity, which slowly turned into a knowing quirk that played at the corner of her lips.

"It is a pleasure to see you again, Amelia-san," Her soft voice cut through the noise, "Brother, shall we sit and discuss this with our hosts?" Arthur gestured to the sofa before their guests could sit down,

"By all means, please sit,"

\--

Yao proved to be every bit the manager Arthur had claimed; he was incredibly meticulous, detailing every aspect of Amelia's soon-to-be job without having the job description in front of him. He went over any question she had with more technicality, and he was astonishingly patient with her if she missed the information the first time. As it turns out, Yao owned one of the most popular and most famous Chinese restaurants in London. This was a complete shock to the American at first, but the more she considered it, the more she realised that the man's hard work had paid off over the years. 

"I need staff with much attention to detail," He had stated, "If there is even a tiny bit of sauce on the plate where the chef has forgotten to wipe it, I need my staff to say so. I need you on the mark from the moment you enter the building to the minute you leave, I hope I make myself clear." 

"Crystal. I'm so up for this, Mr. Wang," She enthused. The restaurant owner raised his eyebrows,

"You're enthusiastic?" He asked in surprised disbelief,

"Of course, sir, your restaurant sounds awesome!" Yao cleared his throat, and seemed extremely prideful,

"There will be things available to staff too, of course. Your lunches will be free if you order from our menu, and you are welcome to the staff discount if you eat with us out of your working hours. Not many places offer their staff free meals," He said, leaning back.

"It's not that part I like, although it's a great perk. I like people, Mr. Wang. That's originally why I chose waitressing in my teens; I have a real interest in food, and I liked to see people happy with their meals and help them if they weren't. A restaurant is so much more than a food place! It's like, where families get together and stuff. I like making people happy," She said honestly, looking over to Arthur. He didn't notice, but Sakura certainly did as the two met eyes. Yao regarded Amelia, and the girl felt as if she was being scrutinised. It was as if he was assessing every angle of her body, trying to judge whether or not she was being genuine. He sat up abruptly and nodded,

"I like this girl, Arthur. She is a good girl. You can start on Monday, which is tomorrow. Do you accept?" And Amelia couldn't hide her smile at all as she and Arthur glanced over at each other, both beaming ecstatically, 

"Absolutely!" She cried, heart fluttering, and Yao offered her a satisfied smile,

"You start at nine. Do not worry about uniform, we will supply it. We will go through induction and my staff will begin to train you," 

"Thank you, sir!" She said, reaching for his hand to shake it again. She nearly shook his arm off with glee,

"Congratulations, Amelia-san." Sakura offered, also moving to shake her hand. Yao stood and brushed the imaginary lint off his slate black trousers, he looked to his younger sister,

"It appears we are done here.  _ Mei mei,  _ are you ready to leave?" He asked the girl and she nodded. The house's occupant's followed their guests to the door, where they bid farewell to one another. Yao had already made it into the street when Sakura turned around.

"Amelia-san?" She called hesitantly. Said blonde made a noise of question, and Sakura paused for a moment. She pulled her bag from her shoulder, and unzipped it. She rummaged around for something, before she found it,

"The last time we met, you mentioned comic books, correct? I am very interested in comics from my home country, and thought we may perhaps have something in common," The small woman made her way back to the step, with a book in her hand,

"As you are my new neighbour, it is Japanese tradition to give a gift. It is usually food, but I have been too busy to cook as of late. Please, accept this instead," She said, holding out the book for Amelia to take. She glanced back at Arthur, who was standing behind her holding open the door, as if looking for permission to take it. He nodded, so the blonde took it with both hands. She observed its cover; a pretty girl with pink hair and cat ears was illustrated on the front, posing like a cat. She read the title of the book, and flicked open to the middle to see that the book was, in fact, a comic. It was different to the ones she had read at home, but she was intrigued nonetheless. Amelia looked at its well drawn pages incredulously, then back at Sakura,

"That is one of my favourites, and she is a superhero too. You are welcome to borrow the other volumes if you enjoy them. Thank you for having us Arthur-san, and congratulations again on your job, Amelia-san... My brother may seem harsh, but he is a good person. Goodbye." She offered them a nod, and made her way down into the neighbouring house. 

Arthur had hardly shut the door before they threw their arms around each other in a hug. They rocked from side to side for a bit, until Arthur folded the girl's arms around his neck and lifted her off the ground effortlessly, dropping her back on her feet. She exclaimed at the sudden weightlessness, but laughed hard upon returning to the ground. In fact, they were both grinning maniacally, laughing and celebrating this recent achievement.  _ This is it! I can move on and start again!  _ Amelia mused. Arthur pushed her away to hold the girl at arm's length,

"You clever little monster, you! You just landed a job!" He enthused, and Amelia felt the happiness radiating from her core,

"I did it, Artie!" The nickname had slipped out unintentionally, but it went unnoticed by the man, "I actually did it!" 

"If someone had told me a week ago that I would be roommates with a girl who tried to break into my home to raid my fridge, I would have had them sectioned," He expressed, then pulled the girl in for another hug. She was happy to oblige him, arms across his strong shoulders with the book still in hand. She felt his firm hold at her waist, and something bubbled in the centre of her chest this time, but it was an emotion she couldn't identify and it disappeared as suddenly as it came. She tried to think more on it, searching for it, but it was gone without a trace. She decided to forget about it for now.

"Hey," She said against his ear, "You can get that washing machine fixed now, right?" She heard him chuckle,

"Yes, I suppose I can, you cheeky sod," 


	7. Report

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello, hello! I'm sorry again for the lateness. I'm still alive and kicking, even though I'm 8 days late lol. Anyway, here we go, drama time. Step right up. 
> 
> I didn't know if the time skip fit into the story as well as I hoped, so I'm sorry if it doesn't. I needed to get things moving a little bit and I wasn't sure how else to do it...
> 
> Hope you guys like this chapter! 
> 
> Yuko

The unceasing drizzle of late October was superseded by the November rains as the mercury plummeted into the low negatives. The trees had shed their multicoloured leaves, the same colours that had belied the warmth of the outside, and littered the streets of Greater London as a dark mush that squelched underfoot. Their forebearers displayed their twig-like skeletons across the city, lurking in the yellow quilt of fog that blanketed the urban landscape. The harsh lights of old and modern buildings bled out into the mist, as the rumble of quiet, pre-morning rush hour traffic echoed through the roads. There were very few people on the streets at this hour, most opting for warm beds, but the odd jogger, manual labourer and night shift worker made their way to and from their respective destinations.  _ Home,  _ Arthur mused, hitching his bag further up his shoulder and stuffing his hands into his trouser pockets. It was only a breath away. A very cold, frosty breath away, but one nonetheless. He rounded the corner, away from the more modern houses and into the older ones, avoiding the deep, murky puddles that lined the tarmac and gathered in the unrepaired potholes. The wooden door of his shared lodgings came into view, and he fumbled around in his pocket with numb fingers to pull out his keys. He climbed the icy step, and quietly inserted his key into its corresponding lock and turned it. He pushed open the door, stepped into the darkness that greeted him, and shut it behind him silently. He kicked off his boots, setting them straight and off to the side. They needed polishing, he noted, as the sludge of decaying leaves had matted their shine. He ran a hand across his face, that would be a job for later. First, bed. He walked further into the abode, and realised there was a soft warm glow emanating from the living room. He paused as he reached the stairs, leaning to look further into the room, curious as to whether or not his housemate had left the lamp on by accident. Her normal place was the bedroom to the left of the stairs, and he supposed she would still be fast asleep at this hour, especially so since the mornings were so dark. He shrugged, deciding to switch it off to cut down the bills, and paced the laminate flooring into the room where the glow originated from.

He was surprised to find a person sprawled on his couch, to say the least. Her golden hair shone like a halo in the lamp light, sprayed out about the cushions, a new edition to their soft furnishings collection courtesy of Amelia. A rose cheek was squashed against a plump arm, and long eyelashes fluttered with wild dreams. A ruby red blouse lay untucked over a jet black pencil skirt, a tie discarded over the back of the couch. A heeled foot hung over the armrest, and Arthur noted how the other arm hung limply over a black bag. He chuckled breathily at the sight, chest filling with amusement and something much softer. He pinned the emotion as endearment, although he knew it was something far stronger than that. He shuffled over to his roommate's sleeping form, and debated about waking her up or leaving her be. He set about removing the shiny kitten heels she donned, watching the small toes as they stretched unconsciously. He decided against moving her, noting the dark circles under her eyes; Amelia had worked flat out for the past four weeks without much of a break, doing extra hours and overtime as the rent payment approached. She really did enjoy her job, but she had mentioned that the pay was sometimes not enough for her to be able to meet the monetary requirements of the big city. That had included shopping for all the new things she needed with her unlikely friends at the restaurant and Sakura, perhaps the most unlikely friend of them all. He had done exactly the same, working overtime at the station to push masses amounts of paperwork, and empathy dictated him to leave her. She looked incredibly peaceful, almost serene, and he wondered just what she may be dreaming about. He lifted her leg off the armrest into a more comfortable position and pushed her bag off to the side with her shoes. She didn't wake during any of this; Amelia slept like the dead on most occasions, but her limpness reminded him of just how tired she actually was. He honestly hadn't seen her lying this still since the afternoon he had found her, fever-wracked, on the floor of the spare room. As the thought crossed his mind, he raised a hand to her forehead in concern to check for any signs of its return. She was as warm as just-cooked toast, comfortable and gentle. He found himself smiling unintentionally as he pulled the fluffy yellow blanket from the back of the sofa, another new edition to the soft furnishings family, and covered her form with it. She stirred and opened her eyes, pale blue appearing green in the warmth of the floor lamp,

"Artie, I didn't know you were home," She mumbled, sleep-drunk,

"I just got in," He mumbled, brushing her newly cut fringe out of her eyes,

"D'ya wanna cuppa tea?" She slurred and he shook his head,

"No, it's alright. Go back to sleep, Amelia,"

"'Kay," And her eyes closed again. He stifled a laugh, reached down to pick up her shoes and bag and made to leave the room. He turned to look back, over his shoulder, at the girl who had turned his world on its head and left the room to deposit her belongings on the shoe rack and coat hanger, before making his way upstairs to his own land of dreams

  
  


\--

  
  


Amelia was busy loading up the washing machine with their dirty clothes when Arthur emerged later in the afternoon. It was nearing half past three, although the angry grey sky outside betrayed the hour, and Amelia reached over to flick on the kettle. Keeping with the blonde's usual routine of getting up, washed, dressed then having a drink, she pulled down their cups from the cupboard,

"Good morning," He greeted, voice still thick with sleep. He had opted for warm, comfortable clothing; a long-sleeved white jumper with a brand logo on the sleeves and black slacks.

"Good  _ afternoon _ ," She corrected with a grin, and was met with a wave of his hand,

"It's all the same on nights, love. Want a coffee?" He asked, and received a nod in reply. He set about making drinks and Amelia switched the washer on. He disappeared into the hallway with his tea, and returned to the new kitchen table with his dirty boots, plonking them onto the table with a thud. He made his way over to the cupboard under the sink, nodding to the machine,

"Does it work okay still?" He asked absentmindedly,

"Perfectly. That Irish handyman did an awesome job, it's running like clockwork," She enthused, patting the machine as it rumbled away. Seeming satisfied, Arthur hummed and retrieved the shoe polish, cloth and brush from the cupboard. She grabbed her coffee and eyed him disdainfully,

"Really? You're gonna polish your boots on my new dining table?" She questioned with a raised eyebrow, he didn't look up,

"You mean  _ our  _ new dining table. We went halves on it, remember?" He muttered. It was true; Amelia had been fed up of eating on the sofa and spilling food down her new clothes, so she had pitched the idea of a dining table with matching chairs to him one day, and they had ordered it from a homeware catalog. They had indeed halved the cost, it being a bit too expensive for either of them to buy alone. It had arrived flatpack, and they had assembled it in the kitchen. Bickering ensued. 

"Okay, point taken, but please. We literally eat off that thing, and I don't even wanna know what you step in on patrol. Remember that morning you walked dog poo in the house? I had to mop  _ three  _ times and the smell still stayed…" She recalled, and the man looked up,

"Hey, if you want me to get  _ black  _ shoe polish on your brand new  _ yellow _ cushions, sweetheart, then I'll move into the living room," He was being half-serious, but his tone was joke-like. She cringed,

"Oh my god, no, don't do that. I concede, you may use the table, but wipe it, yeah?" 

"Yes, you know I will," He mumbled, and set about polishing his boots.

"How's your back? The settee didn't seem at all comfortable, but I really didn't want to move you," He said honestly, and she sighed,

"It's really stiff, but I think I can manage with some aspirin. I didn't mean to crash there, I was just so exhausted. Thanks for covering me over, that was super sweet of you," She took a seat opposite him, coffee in hand,

"Don't mention it. I get it when you're tired, I've done it myself. You've helped out so much these past few weeks, but maybe you should consider a break now the payments done," 

"Yeah, I'm off today," She hummed, taking a sip of coffee,

"Shame I'm in later. We could've done something," He responded, "I don't see much of you nowadays," 

  
  


They fell into pleasant silence, and Amelia watched engrossed with the way Arthur maintained his footwear. He seemed extremely prideful, spreading about the polish meticulous and buffing it with the cloth,

"How'd you get them so shiny? You always have the shiniest boots," She asked, and he leant back in his chair, one hand in one shoe and the other holding the brush,

"It's a bit of a story, really, if you're up for it," He stated, and she nodded eagerly. The rain began to fall, its droplets hammering hard against the kitchen window.

"I had a bit of a complex, you could say. I was very aware of how underdeveloped I was compared to my peers in the cadets. I was a lot smaller than them, and nowhere near as strong. I was bullied a lot, beat up a lot and always got bad grades in physical." He began, Amelia listened,

"Well, the only way I could think to pull my grades up was to be meticulous with organisation. So I used to make sure my kit was the most organised, and I polished my boots until I could see my reflection in them, anything to show I was still committed to the force. I used to get praised for it by my superiors, then my peers came to ask me how I did it. I never did tell them, mind you. Everything changed as I caught up to them; I got taller and stronger, started acing physical. I guess the shine on my shoes never changed though, and I try to keep that way still," He finished, and Amelia smiled widely,

"That's really inspiring. I mean, it sucks so hard that you got bullied. Trust me, I was too. But you totally kicked butt in a different way!" She cried, and her roommate picked up the other shoe to buff it,

"If you want something bad enough, you'll do anything, I suppose. I just really wanted to be an officer like my uncle, so…" He trailed off at her blank expression, "My dad wasn't around when we were kids, so my uncle helped out my mum when he could. He was a sergeant," 

"Oh, I get it. Deadbeat dad, huh?" She asked, and got a nodded response, "Yeah, mine was no angel either, but I don't wanna get into that." 

"Hey, you talk about it when you're ready," He added, placing the other shoe on the table. She smiled thankfully at him,

"I really wanna tell you, Artie, I just-" She began,

"You don't want to relive it, I understand. More than you might think, really," He responded, chuckling. 

Amelia regarded her housemate, something she had found herself doing a lot lately; The Englishman had offered her a little glimpse into his past, and it felt sort of good. He rarely spoke much about himself. Despite the fact that they had been living side by side for about a month, she didn't know much about his past, whether that was because she had vigorously respected his boundaries enough not to ask or because he was naturally secretive. Either way, the fact that they were still pretty much strangers to one another bothered her. She would hang on his every word, trying to pick apart the clues to his past. She wanted to know Arthur. That, she supposed, made moments like these all the more special,

"What're you staring at?" He asked, a wry grin on his face,

"Dunno, but it's kinda cute," She tormented, watching the grin leave his face as heat flooded his cheeks. She cackled as he mumbled something about twats.

  
  


\--

  
  


Arthur fell into his chair with a sigh. He let his head droop to one side, eyeing a stack of freshly scrawled out documents which needed scanning onto the crime database and filing upstairs in the cabinets. In name and date order. Petty crimes, shoplifters, young people driving without insurance. They all had their own significance, like giving him a brand new paperwork-induced headache, but he sometimes failed to see how they sat in the grander scheme of things. It felt almost unfair sometimes; he had trained since his mid teens to take down men twice his size, but was instead tackling stacks of administration roughly that. He recounted the times he had sworn at the spreadsheets and word documents in frustration, the times he had kicked and shook the long-past-its-prime printer back to life. It was amazing how heavy paper could be if you had enough of it, and Arthur supposed that, even if his legs weren't getting a workout by chasing criminals, they were at least serving him well as he dragged himself up the stairs to the filing cabinets. He was trained in high speed car chases, counter terrorism, forensics, search and security coordination… Yet he had not been placed on the streets of London for about three weeks. In fact, the last time he had been called out was on November 5th, to a bonfire night party that had gone horribly wrong. Still, his job was to serve and protect, no matter how boring it was, and he was at least grateful that he hadn't had to arrest someone on suspicion of murder for a long, long time. He was shook from his reverie by a hard hand slapping against his shoulder, and realised he was glaring quite intensely at the polypockets near his computer, as if the papers would magically jump into their covers by themselves,

"Staring at them won't make them disappear, Art!" A rather obnoxious Danish accent emerged from behind, disrupting the quiet chit chat of his other colleagues. They took a glance in their direction with offence, and the Dane mouthed an apology,

"Get stuffed, Mathias. And don't call me Art, I'm clearly not a painting," He muttered, stretching to life as he turned to his partner and colleague. 

"I know, it's such a shame. I would have something much more interesting to look at," He gauffed, and Arthur flipped him a rather discreet finger. Matthias was around his age, with intimidating blue eyes and unkempt blonde hair. His face was made up of strong bones; his jaw line was razor sharp, his cheekbones high and his nose square and structured. He was a similar build to Arthur, but several inches taller. In fact, he must have been touching six foot. He had a very loud and boisterous personality, one that drove Arthur up the wall, but he had seen first hand, through nights of patrol, what happened if you got on his bad side… He was practically a force to reckon with. The Dane flashed his colleague a dazzling grin and made his way around to his desk, next to Arthur's, which was far more cluttered than the Brit's training-induced OCD would have liked. They had an interesting relationship, to say the least; most of it involved friendly fire, casual insults hurled across the office or pushing each other into puddles on patrol. Arthur knew he was a good guy deep down, but Mathias and Gilbert had seemed to form an unspoken pact to get Arthur to break his professional facade. It worked sometimes. 

"Where the hell is Gil tonight anyway?" His workmate asked, a deep frown wrinkling his forehead,

"He got the night off, something about his younger brother's birthday," Arthur replied, standing from his chair and hurling the papers off his scratched desk with more effort than necessary. His fellow officer made a loud noise of discontent and slammed his head theatrically onto the desk, sending papers flying every which way. Arthur eyed his antics reproachfully as he passed,

"Oh god, I have to spend a whole night alone with Mr. Stick in the Mud? You gotta be kidding me…" He bemoaned, and Arthur frowned,

"Watch it, Desen," He warned. It was not effective. His work mate rambunciously pretended to cry,

"Hey, you can always go and sit with Old Bill if you don't like my company," Arthur watched Mathias look over at the old man, one of the detention officers, picking his nose with a tissue and pulled a face,

"I'll pass, but no one likes your company either so don't get too proud," He said, rising from the desk.

"That's actually not true, my roommate likes me," He offered weakly and Mathias grinned,

"Oh right, yeah, that mysterious American girl," He cooed before the other man could escape to the printer, "Gil said she's a ten. Where'd you find her, anyway? Not like you to give up Alfred's old room for a random chick," 

Arthur understood the hidden implication by the blonde's wiggling eyebrows, "Alfred is dead, and I needed help with the rent. Please don't rate a girl out of ten, it's disturbing. As for 'the random chick', no, we are not together, and I really don't think it's any of your business anyway," 

"Arthur, are you twenty-three or sixty-three? Come on, live a little!" He enthused,

"What are you, the Danish inquisition? Sod off, Mathias, I'm too busy to deal with you right now," He nodded his chin at the admin pile, "Duty calls," 

Insert, press the button, remove master copy, turn over, insert, repeat. The printer screeched and groaned at the force of scanning the documents, the blue light of the multi purpose machine peeking out from under the heavy lid of the scanner. He languidly gazed through one of the steel paned office windows as it worked, staring out at the chilly, starless winter sky. There was no one about tonight, nobody passing by the back of the station. It was probably a good thing, judging by the frost settling on the pavements.  _ They'll be slippery tomorrow _ , he noted. His mind drifted back to Amelia and the night they had met. If he had let her go that night, or any of the nights that had followed, where would she be now? A part of him hoped she may have returned to her family, just in time for Christmas, but the more logical side of him knew that the girl was stubborn; she would be out there now, trying to find food and somewhere to sleep in the below freezing temperature, wind howling, rain drilling her skin. He was glad she had decided to stay, but the somber thought decided to stay with him a bit longer as he mourned of all the other people who were like her right now. He sighed, setting the freshly scanned one aside when an error message appeared on the barely-useable touch screen. He peered down at it through narrow eyes and read the text written there. He tapped the screen, and then again a bit harder when it didn't cooperate. He backed away, frustrated, considering whether or not another good kick would do the trick, when a voice rang through the office,

"Is anyone not busy right now?" Came the receptionist's husky voice, and most looked up. The long, curly haired brunette straightened her blouse as Mathias raised his hand.  _ Liar, you're way too busy, but you're fed up with paperwork, _ he teased in his head,

"I'm free right now, Elizabeta, what can I do for you?" He asked, and she beckoned a tall blonde gentleman with hair to his shoulders to follow her into the room. She pulled up a chair beside Mathias and began explaining the situation in hushed tones as the rest of the office got back to work. Arthur gathered and scanned the last of his paperwork despite the error message, and returned to his seat to retrieve them from the scanner folder on the database. The newcomer eyed him as he sat down at his desk, and something about the way he smiled struck a chord of familiarity with him. He studied the man for a minute, taking in his baby blue eyes, shaded by his black rimmed glasses, sandy blonde hair with a single strand that failed to conform with the rest of his look, and his gentle features. He donned a plain blue shirt with a red t-shirt underneath, pale green slacks and red converse highs that peaked out from under the hem as he crossed his legs. The man turned back to his colleague and Arthur shook the familiarity away to regain his focus, keeping an ear out for their conversation in case he got any clues about who the man may be. 

"I'd like to check a missing person's report please. You guys said you'd be extending the search across Greater London," He said, American twang very evident in his voice. Arthur frowned, but kept his eyes fixed on the screen,

"Uh huh, what's your relationship to the missing person?" Mathias asked, a basic question they needed to access the files on the missing person's database,

"Uh, I'm her older brother," He told him, then sighed with impatience, "I'm sorry, officer, but I've been through this so many times, so I really don't mean to appear frustrated. My name is Matthew Jones and I was born on July 1st,"

"Okay, thank you," the clicking of the keyboard could be heard, then, "And what's the missing person's name?" 

The visitor's answer made Arthur's blood run cold,

"It's Amelia Frances Jones. Her birthday is July 4th," The man informed. Arthur immediately turned a head in their direction, and everything suddenly made sense. The eyes, the smile… They had been identical to Amelia's. He was here, inches away from her brother, her very own flesh and blood. Mathias continued while Arthur gaped at the man,

"Okay, so Miss Jones was last sighted by yourself in February of this year, then was last heard from by a friend two months ago. Can you confirm that she has not been heard from since?" 

"Yeah, that's true," The American responded,

_ No, it's not true, I see her everyday. _

"And her disappearance came about after a domestic dispute at your home in… Richmond?" 

"That's correct,"

_ So it was domestic... _

"Okay, then I can confirm that the search has been extended to include all of Greater and Central London, as well as the counties situated outside of that. There's been no evidence for a good few months, but I assure you that the force are doing their best to find your sister," Mathias soothed, and Amelia's brother nodded, 

"Thank you for keeping me updated. I'll be going now, that was all I wanted to know," Matthew Jones stood and pushed out his chair and made to leave. He looked to be in immense amounts of pain, but hopefulness echoed through his watery, dazed eyes and Arthur saw Amelia the night he found her, sat on his kitchen counter. His colleague stopped the man,

"If it's any help, I know of a few charities that may be able to-" 

"Thanks, officer, I really appreciate you carin', but we tried an awful lot of them and they don't help. We won't heal until we find her, you know the drill," He offered a half smile, and left the same way he had entered.

It took everything in the blonde officer's being not to start hyperventilating. His thoughts jumbled into a cacophonous mess, fighting genocidly for his attention. Surely it wasn't Amelia, the one currently tucked up in his spare room right now, helping him pay rent. After all, how many Amelia Frances Jones could there be in a city as big as this? Hundreds of thousands? Sure, her potential brother was the spitting image of her, but doppelgangers did exist too. The only thing he knewn for sure was that he needed to get his eyes on that report and fast. Mathias sighed from a far off place,

"Those missing person ones always make me sad. Hope the poor girl doesn't get found dead," He mumbled, 

"She isn't dead," Arthur exploded, and his colleague turned to him,

"How'd you know? Man, are you okay? You look extremely pale…" He asked, and Arthur coughed himself back to some kind of outward appearance of normality,

"I'm fine. Can I see the report?" He asked abruptly, and his friend shrugged. The two rearranged themselves around the other officer's desk, where Arthur took control of the mouse. He scrolled to the very top of the document, to the place he knew should contain a photograph. Sure enough, her sweet, smiling face occupied the spot. He backed out, offering an apology to Mathias and informed him he was going outside to take a break. While taking in the night air, his thoughts shuffled themselves around and he began to take in the implications of his situation, and most importantly the danger it posed to his job.

Amelia was a missing person, and Arthur was withholding evidence in a police investigation. 


	8. Criminal

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi there, it's me again! Looks like this will have to updated weekly now my shifts have changed... Sorry about that! 
> 
> Anyway, Amelia says some hurtful things in this one. I've also updated the tags to include alcoholism, so if that triggers you then you can avoid it. It's gonna be a recurring theme for a while. Fyi, I love France, so I have no intention of making him look like a bad guy in this. 
> 
> Anyway, I hope you enjoy! See end notes for translations and an explanation as to character names!
> 
> Yuko

Arthur drummed his hands impatiently on his knees. She would be home soon. He leant over to check his phone, just to check he had the right time.

_I'm out with Sakura, Chiara and Alice today. I wanna get some new stuff, I should be back around 2pm. Try not to miss me too much! xx_

It was five minutes past. He threw the device into the sofa and sat with his head in his hands. He had to talk to her about her brother, about the missing person's report made for her by her father. He had looked it up again before he left work that morning, and the notes flooded into his mind. Her father had filed the report in February, and it had been subsequently shut as soon as a friend, Jamima or something, reported her safe. The case had been reopened after she left there, and no new information had come to light. Except, the whole fact that Arthur had taken her in. He felt so stupid; had he used his brain in the first place he would have thought of looking her up on the database, he would have found her. He had not known about the report prior to taking Amelia in, it wasn't really his division, but now the situation had taken a turn for the worst. He was withholding information in a police investigation, simply by knowing Amelia was here, and as a police officer himself, that only spelled trouble for his career. He hoped the least he would get was a slap on the wrist, but the nature of this issue called for a huge black stain on his record, so large and so dark that his achievements in the past three years would disappear completely. He would never work in the force again. Now the past month they had spent living together had unknowingly made him a criminal, and as the seconds ticked on, he was closer and closer to losing his job. How was he even supposed to bring that up to her? He had wanted so badly to protect her privacy, give her the opportunity to explain the reasons for doing what she did, but it was a little too late for that now. Still, it wasn't as if he could just come out and say 'your estranged brother stopped by and asked for you so I looked you up and now you might get me fired'. He desperately wanted to run away and avoid the need to have this conversation, but he wanted her to know the options available to her. During the past few weeks, in the rare opportunities they had together, she would chat animatedly about her childhood back in The States, and how her hometown had brandished waterfalls of colossal sizes, how she had camped near them with her family, and how London had nothing remotely similar. Yet, she never spoke of her family. And he didn't push. She was talking about it, so did that mean she was ready to hear the news? The feeling of uncertainty began to rise in his chest, unsure as to how she would handle the invasion of privacy, let alone the news of her father. Even if she took it the wrong way, he would want her to know that her father is still out there missing her terribly. It may destroy the foundations they had built over the past few weeks, but it was worth it to spark a flame of reuniting her with the people who loved her the most. That was first and foremost his concern, but Arthur couldn't continue to risk his job. 

  
  


The front door swung open, and Arthur stood anxiously as she walked to the door, slightly out of breath. Her cheeks were glowing underneath her make up with the chill of the wind, and she smelled like a winter afternoon. Her short hair was half clipped back, the ruby red clip sparking between blonde locks as she made her way into the living room. She had several shopping bags in her hands, which were red with the cold. She was so incredibly beautiful these days. Amelia looked surprised to see him standing like an idiot in the middle of the living room, wringing his hands nervously, as she shrugged her bags onto the floor.

"Hey! I didn't think you'd be awake!" She chirped, and began to shrug off her cream coat. He cleared his throat,

"Um, yes. Did you have a nice time with the girls?" He asked dumbly,

"Amazing! We went to Willesden again, I tell ya, I got some sweet clothes! You wanna see?" 

"Uh, not right now, love. I actually need to talk to you about... something," 

She giggled, not grasping his serious tone, "Are you gonna confess your undying love for me? Really, Artie, I'm flattered, but-"

"I'm not really up for joking right now, Amelia. This is serious," He said sternly. He hoped his stance would clearly portray his intentions, and it seemed to work. Her demeanour changed as she draped her scarf across the back of the sofa, she looked anxious. He gestured for her to sit down, and followed her after she did so. He took a breath, debating and disputing as to how he was going to approach this.

"Arthur, what's going on? Just tell me straight," She said, and the flood gates opened. 

"Your brother came by the station last night," He stated, eyeing his roommate to judge her reaction. She frowned, mouth working spasmodically, 

"Mattie was… here?" She asked quietly, "Why? How did you know it was him?" 

"He came to see an update to a missing person's report."

"Who's missing?" 

He stared at her blankly, "Who do you think? Who is currently not with her family and is sitting on my couch right now instead?" 

"You mean…" 

"Yes, Amelia. Your family are looking for you." He finished, and was met with silence. A series of emotions played out within her eyes; the tang of surprise, the twinkle of hope, then the torturous look of suspicion. She eyed him, icy blue met ferocious green. 

"How do you know it's even me?" She asked with uncertainty, voice barely above a mumble. Arthur sighed and shuffled to sit directly in front of her, steeling himself against the storm that was coming in light of the conversation. 

"I searched for you on the database at work-" He began, and the girl gave a bark of disbelief.

"You looked me up?!" Her voice rose in volume at his statement. He made a calming hand gesture and began to speak, but was interrupted,

"No, no. Don't you dare brush that off! Have I ever given you any reason not to trust me? Yes, I broke in, but haven't I done enough to prove to you that I'm, you know, an okay person? I've respected you all this time and you go search me up like I'm some kind of criminal?" 

"Amelia, please, it's not what you think. Just calm down and let me finish what I was going to say," He soothed, and watched the girl slump back into the sofa, arms crossed, a defensive look in her eye. It was almost challenging, as if she was sizing him up,

"Fine. I'm all ears." She chided, and the officer ignored her tone to get to the point.

"I looked you up, as you put it, after Matthew left. The case was opened in February, which is when I assume you ran away after an argument, and has been closed once since then. Your father, Francis, has reopened it and they're still looking for information about you."

"How much do you know? About what happened?" She fumed through gritted teeth. Arthur had watched her face grow progressively more hostile as he was speaking,

"The basics, nothing more. I didn't read the whole report-"

"But you still read it!" She accused. He huffed, this was becoming impossible,

"What I'm trying to say, Amelia, is that you're not the criminal here. I am."

She glared at him, "Why are you a criminal?" 

"Because I'm withholding information in a police investigation. This could cost me my job." He finished. 

It took a few seconds before Amelia could fully grasp the situation, and when she did, she snapped like a rubber band.

"So you're just gonna turn me in, then? Hm? Sure, why not? Get me done for breaking and entering while you're at it!" She shouted. Arthur flinched,

"No, Amelia, that's not-" He tried,

"No, shut up! Do you even hear what you're saying? _You_ want _me_ to speak with my abusive family? You have no clue what happened that night, or anything that came before it!"

"That's what I want to ask you about. I want to tell you that there's another way we can go about it! We can solve this issue simply and-" His voice was raised now,

 _"Solve?_ This isn't one of your cases, Arthur! This is my life!"

"It _is_ a case, whether you like it or not. You are a missing person, and I have information about your whereabouts. You could put me in prison. The rent you wanted to help me pay? Yeah, there won't even be a house. This," He gestured between the two of them, "will no longer exist if I lose my job. I'll move back in with my mum, and you'll be out on the streets until the next good Samaritan comes along. That will be yet another life fucked up, all because you won't hear me out."

She seemed to consider this momentarily, and while he had temporarily tamed the raging bull, he spoke,

"However, there is away we can do this. You are over the age of 18, which means you can inform your family that you are safe and well without them knowing your whereabouts,"

"It still involves me contacting them! I would rather them know I was dead! Call me irrational all you want, Arthur, but I spent three long years, coming home from school to find the most amazing man I ever knew passed out on the floor of our lounge, covered in his own vomit! I dragged him upstairs to bed. Every. Single. Night. I stayed up night after night, worrying that he might be taken away from me too! Whether his liver gave up or he aspirated! No, no, I lost my dad a long time ago. The man who filed that report is _not_ my dad." She finished, and Arthur sighed, eyes filling with pity. He gazed on at the girl, whose eyes were full of unshed tears, and wondered just how much damage that way of life had done. He wanted to grab her, hold her in his arms and tell her he would sort it all out, he would make it all better. However, this was something she must do on her own terms,

"Amelia," He said softly, and it seemed to make the girl even more furious,

"Don't fucking patronize me, Arthur. I don't need your pity," She hissed, spitting the last word out as if it was the most vile tasting thing on the planet. 

"Amelia, if you could have seen the pain in your brother's eyes… I've been there, trust me. I _know_ that pain. Your family miss you so much-" 

"You don't know anything about family!! You have none in this city! None even in this country!" She screamed, standing up ramrod straight. Arthur was familiar with the pain of a stab wound, and her words plunged right into his heart like a knife. He recoiled at the verbal blow and sank further into his seat,

"No, I don't. That's why I want to help you before you make the worst decision of your life." He mumbled as all the fight left him. She paced to the door, gathered her bags and eyed him disdainfully. Raw hurt and unresolved pain glimmered there, and Arthur knew it wasn't just from their conversation. She regarded him, looked him up and down,

"You know what? I think I already did." The girl left, and Arthur didn't watch her go. He her her storm up the stairs, and then the room shook with the force of the slamming door that reverberated through the upper floor. Arthur sighed.

  
  


\--

  
  


The shrill sound of a plate as it hit the floor echoed through the restaurant. The hubbub ceased, and Amelia felt a hundred eyes on her. She stared dumbly at the broken object, assessing its chipped, sharp edges, watching as the sauce from the finished meal seeped into the cracks between the wooden flooring. She looked on, and so did the customers. The chatter returned and she sprang into action, guiding patrons away as she began to stack the glass pieces on top of each other. She caught her hand on one of the razor sharp edges, blood joining the pool of mess. She held her wrist and sank back onto her haunches. A neon yellow sign entered her peripheral, and she looked up to see the stern face of Chiara, deep brown hair tied up in a ponytail, holding the sign. She came closer with a dustpan and brush as she felt an arm hook under her elbow. She was dragged to her feel by Alice, the twin sister of her other colleague, 

"Are you okay, _amica_? You have cut your hand, no?" Came her voice as she inspected her hand. Amelia shook herself out of it, and smiled at her colleague as she fished a tissue from her apron pocket and pressed it into her hand, closing her fingers around it. Her two Italian friends and colleagues hadn't been far from the scene, and Amelia was very grateful for that. They were both very supportive; Alice was soft spoken, a little nutty and extremely beautiful; sun kissed skin, wide doe eyes, shining light brown hair. Her twin sister was much like this too, they were each other's mirror image, only Chiara's hair was sleek and smooth like luxury chocolate. She was much more outspoken too, and when the elder twin bickered back to Yao, or set right a customer who had tried to leave without paying, the American had wondered how the girl had even gotten a job in customer service in the first place. It was times like this when her friend's kindness shone through that made her reconsider that aspect of her. Truthfully, Amelia hadn't really been herself; after the argument with Arthur and the notion of her family's search for her whereabouts, she was seeing the two offending parties in every person coming through the door. It was making her crazy, and concentration had left her like a balloon in the wind. Wasted days, sleepless nights... It had been three days, not that she was counting or anything. It had left her in an incredibly bad mood, a permanent scowl on her brow. She had tried, hard, not to let her friends at Golden Dragon down, but with the second plate this week smashed and her hand making the white tissue red, she came to the conclusion that she had failed. Miserably. 

"I'm alright, Alice. Chiara, leave it, yeah? I'll clean it up," She said, but her friends didn't step away,

"I got it. _Che cazzo,_ what is wrong with you today? This is the second plate you've smashed," The elder twin bit, but there was no real frustration behind her words, only concern. 

"I-I don't know… I just wasn't concentrating," She sighed, and made a move to bend down. Alice made sure she stayed upright, 

"No, no, _mio caro_ , we're going to the staff room to get the first aid kit. _Sorella_ will sort this out," She urged, leading Amelia away. They didn't get very far,

"Amelia! My office. Now." A voice bellowed from a black door in the far corner. The girls turned around to see Yao Wang lurking in the doorway, a very stern look directed towards the young American. She made to open her mouth when her chocolate haired colleague spoke up,

"Give the damn girl two minutes! She's hurt herself!" Chiara shouted back, which didn't please their manager one bit. He raised a forefinger,

"You watch your tongue!" He fumed and closed the door behind him. Amelia couldn't understand why he was so furious, almost everyone was accustomed to Chiara's antagonistic tone. A sinking feeling filled her stomach, she was in big trouble. She looked between her two friends for support, and they offered her sympathetic smiles. 

As soon as Alice had pressed a dressing to cover the slice on her palm, she sat in Yao's office, watching him pace in front of the window. He moved between the grey filing cabinets on either side, stacked with multicoloured folders for payroll, supplier details and accounts. He stopped, and stood looking out over the car park. The night was drawing in fast, and the sun was setting on the horizon, throwing watercolour-esque illuminations across the sky. Amelia looked down at her lap with guilt, waiting for the thick atmosphere to dissipate. The Chinese man turned to her abruptly, his ponytail flicking across his shoulder,

"I don't care what went on between you two noisy neighbours earlier this week, but you do not need to take it out on my dinnerware!" He fumed, folding his shirtsleeves across his torso. Amelia sighed,

"I'm really sorry, Mister Yao. For the smashed plates and the shouting," She admitted, still eyeing the lint on her pencil skirt, "You can take it out of my next paycheck, if you want,"

"Oh, I will. Don't you worry about that." 

Amelia said nothing, opting to nod wordlessly at her manager and neighbour. Truthfully, she was almost on the verge of tears. Nothing was going to plan right now. 

"If that's all, may I leave?" She asked meekly, hoping that the man would get the jist of the fact that she wanted to hide in the bathroom for a few minutes. Yao deflated. He shuffled to his seat and sat on it,

"Sakura wants you to come round after your shift. She's made some food, so don't go straight home. I'll give you a lift." He added, and Amelia finally looked up,

"You don't have to do that, sir, we live next door," 

"I insist. She wants to give you the opportunity to speak with her about what happened. I may not be good with comforting, but _mei mei_ sure is," 

Her face flushed red with embarrassment, "Um… Exactly what did you hear?" 

"We heard everything." 

Amelia covered her face in her hands, then dragged her fingertips down across her cheeks, feeling like that Edvard Munch painting. She collected herself,

"You're not… gonna report him or anything?" She mumbled,

"Of course not, it's your business. We have no part in it." Yao stated definitively, and Amelia sighed with relief,

"But I will say that you were totally out of order with the things you said. As much as it pains me to say, I must side with Arthur-"

She interrupted bitterly, "I thought you said you have no part in it,"

"-He has been through so much more than you realise, and I think that my sister would like to clear that up with you. She went through it with him, after all." Yao said, sifting through the stray papers on his desk. Curiosity piqued her attention this time, and she tilted her head at the manager as permission to continue. The man banged the papers against the desk,

"That is all I will divulge. I am not good with sensitive topics. You may leave," He said, gesturing to the door. The girl stood, rearranged herself, and made her way to the portal. The man called to her before she left. She spun around, the stern look in his almond eyes was replaced with a pleading look 

"For the sake of my poor dinnerware, sort this out with him," 

The blonde nodded, and made her way back to her patrons with a bit more resolve. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Translations
> 
> Italian:  
> Amica - friend  
> Che cazzo - what the fuck  
> Mio caro - my dear
> 
> Chinese:  
> Mei mei - term of endearment for a younger sister
> 
> Explanation  
> I read that Fem!Italy and Fem!Romano don't have official human names, but Himaruya liked Alice (Ah-lee-chi) and Chiara (Key-ah-ra) for both of them respectively. I hope there's no confusion!
> 
> Yuko


	9. Story

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Does anyone know that video of the man drinking coffee, loudly cheering "WOO" and then slamming his head on a desk? Yeah, that was me with this chapter. 
> 
> Most of this chapter was written about 8 months ago, but I had to edit it to fit in with the new plotline. It got a bit crazy.
> 
> There's lots of tears. Like, three people cry so. Yeah. There's SO MUCH DIALOGUE, it was the only way I could think to do this. Hope you guys aren't bummed out by their back stories, but I used two incidents that I've experienced in real life to try and make them seem more real.
> 
> Enjoy! See you guys next week! 
> 
> Yuko

Amelia was greeted at the front door of her neighbours' house by a small, fluffy white cloud with beady black eyes and a pink tongue.

"Oh my god!!" Amelia exclaimed, crouching down to fuss the animal. The dog's fur was soft and silky, and he spelt as sweet as strawberries. The creature was more than happy to recieve the attention, jumping up onto Amelia's lap in greeting, panting and huffing before climbing down and finally rolling over in anticipation of a belly rub. Sakura made her way to the dog, wiping her hands on the apron covering her yellow checkered miniskirt.

"Pochi, _Koko ni ike_ ," Sakura appeared in the doorway, and the dog launched itself up and padded behind Sakura's ankles, where he sat. Amelia watch as his tail wished wildly with excitement and she couldn't help but coo.

"I see you have met my Pochi, Amelia-san," She greeted with a bow,

"He is _the_ cutest thing," She enthused, and her friend laughed sweetly.

"Please come in, dinner is almost done," The Japanese woman stepped aside and gestured to her house with a bow. Amelia smiled and stepped through the threshold.

Sakura was an even better cook than Amelia could have imagined. The Japanese inspired cuisine she had made for dinner that night was fresh, fragrant and absolutely delicious. Sure, it took her while to get to grips with the chopsticks, but after the Japanese girl had fussed and stressed about the fact she could use a knife and fork if she had wished, Amelia, not wanting to offend, was eating with them as if she had done so her entire life. They sat around the dining table, and while it felt a bit unusual eating around her manager who had stayed quietly satisfied with the girls chatting, it soon seemed as if Amelia had always been there. Pochi stayed in his bed, looking forlornly at the food on the table. She had heard stories of how welcoming Asian families could be, and if she had not have believed them before, she certainly did now. After they had washed the dishes, of which the American was met with a firm declination upon offering to help, Amelia and her friend disappeared upstairs with Pochi in tow. The layout was incredibly similar to her shared occupancy next door,

"Victorian townhouses," Sakura had said as she made the observation, "they are all the same on the inside. You will have no trouble finding your way around," 

She had been right, of course, as the girl had found out when she had needed to use the bathroom. The hallway was exactly the same, and when Sakura had called her into her bedroom, Amelia already knew it would be the smaller of the two. She occupied the same room next door.

Sakura's bedroom was incredibly unique, to say the least; the mattress lacked a bed frame, and was situated on the wooden floor, but was immaculately made without a single crease. Low boxy shelves lined the far wall, stacked with Japanese comic books, DVDs and different types of memorabilia, some of which Amelia recognised from the shows Sakura had enthused about; since she had taken interest in the book her neighbour had leant to her the night Yao had given her a job, the Japanese girl had sent the American spiralling into the world of anime and manga, she loved the stuff. They had spent late nights on a messaging app, talking about the best bits and sweet scenes in the movies and shows. They had found an interesting dynamic in terms of friendship - on the outside, they couldn't be more different, but Amelia knew that pressing the button that sparked Sakura's true side involved speaking about her culture. In fact, when her friend had furiously debated about the goings on in a new show she was watching, Amelia wondered whether she was the most enthusiastic of the two. It was a side most didn't see. The short woman shuffled in slippers across the room to the wall mounted TV, flicking it on as she walked by, trying not to trip over the white fluffball at her ankles,

"Please excuse the mess, I have not had a chance to tidy up as of late," She mumbled, pulling out an obscure CD from the shelves. Amelia looked on incredulously, with no idea which 'mess' she was referring to. Her friend placed the CD in the opened slot on the electronic and began to flick through the songs,

"Dude, why don't you just use your phone?" She asked, 

"Forgive me, but I like to listen to CDs sometimes. There is something nostalgic about it." She responded, and Amelia shrugged. When her friend had settled on a tune she liked, she invited Amelia to sit on the floor. Pochi crawled into Sakura's lap and curled up, resting his head on her calf. They sat in comfortable silence for a minute or so, neither sure how to begin speaking about the topic. Amelia was dreading the mention of it, but also felt a little twinge of anticipation at the prospect of getting to know her housemate; Arthur wasn't at all secretive, but had never revealed everything major about his past and Amelia had never asked. They danced around the idea with idle chit chat, when Sakura finally turned to her friend,

"Amelia-san, there are a few things I would like to speak to you about… In regards to your dispute with Arthur-san a few nights ago," She began, 

"Oh, Sakura, I feel so terrible for what I said," She began, shaking her head. Sakura's expression turned sour,

"And so you should," She stated, "I do not wish to appear unfair, but I get immensely upset about matters that relate to my family,"

"You guys are family?" Amelia asked, and received a nod from her Asian friend who didn't elaborate,

"That is why your comment about his family's absence was entirely unwarranted and incredibly disrespectful," 

Amelia hung her head, fiddling with her fingers, "I know it was. I don't really know much about it, but I'm guessing his brother leaving wasn't his fault." Her friend regarded her thoughtfully as she continued, "How are you guys related? No offence, but you're not from Britain, and you guys don't look alike at all,"

Silence, then: "He hasn't spoken to you about it?"

"About what?" She asked, and Sakura sighed heavily. She twisted into a standing position, depositing Pochi off to the side as he sauntered out of the room, and brushed down her yellow plaid miniskirt before walking over to the shelves and touching her fingers against the books meticulously, until she found the one she was looking for. Amelia watched her with intent as she made her way back to the spot she occupied before. She leant up against the wall, motioning Amelia to lean in closer, and opened the book. It hadn't been what she was expecting; the book was not a novel, nor a notepad, but a photo album, and several photographs of varying quality were shielded by a film covering. There were Polaroids, printed photos, even those little sequence ones you get out of the photobooths. They mostly contained her small friend as a child and an unrecognisable child with bright blue eyes, sandy blonde hair, and a cowlick that fuelled in her a similar rage that she had towards her brother's stringy piece of hair. There was another boy too, older and looking very grumpy, green eyes narrow, arms folded, hair messy, and cheeks puffed. The features of the boy's face, though chubby, where instantly recognisable,

"That's-!" Amelia exclaimed, and Sakura nodded,

"Arthur-san, correct," 

They looked to be in a park, with the obnoxiously painted climbing frame and swings in the background. A tiny, doll-like Sakura seemed shy with the attention of the camera, and appeared to have been thrust into the spotlight by the boy Amelia didn't know, with an ill-tempered Arthur sulking in the background. She smiled a bit at his unhappy baby face, making a mental note to use it in their next bickering session. Well, if there ever was one. Sakura looked over at her friend and saw her smile,

"He was upset because he said he would have to leave the tree fairies behind," She stated, and Amelia blanched, "He had a great imagination," 

Amelia chuckled at the thought of her officer friend showing an affinity for the supernatural, and turned her focus to the other boy in the picture, the one who was beaming ecstatically,

"Who's this li'l fella?" She asked, studying his boyish, chubbier features,

"Ah. That is Alfred, Arthur's brother and my intended," 

Amelia eyed her friend's soft expression, as she turned the pages. She was wearing that look they made in the movies when they looked at the person they loved, but Amelia picked up on the undertones. Sakura emitted a deep rooted, uncharacteristic sorrow and Amelia knew that look of longing, she had worn it herself. The look. The longing for a love that wasn't there anymore, the thought they would come back, the finality that they won't, the crying behind the smile. She wasn't stupid; as her friend gazed on at the photographs, she placed a hand on her knee and spoke,

"He died, didn't he?" She asked quietly, fearing the outcome, and she winced when her friend nodded. The Japanese girl pursed her lips,

"Arthur-san and Alfred lived next door to us when I was a little girl. I was the youngest of nine, including my step siblings such as _onii-chan_ , so things were very lonely. Alfred, Arthur-san and I were around the same age, so we became friends. We went through school together, so please understand that Arthur-san is like an older brother to me. Alfred and I were the same age, and we clicked very quickly. I am not sure when playing in the sandbox together became a crush, but he asked me to be his girlfriend when we were fifteen, and we were always called the cutest couple in school," Sakura paused, thought for a moment, and backtracked, "Actually, he was too afraid to do it himself, the fool, so Arthur-san asked me out for him. As if I could say no," She chuckled, a musical sound. Amelia snorted, imagining an irate Arthur chewing his younger brother out before marching up to a bashful Sakura. 

"Alfred proposed to me on my nineteenth birthday, and swore he would never want anyone but me. I accepted, and this," She pointed to a picture of an older Arthur and Alfred, standing side by side with their hands behind their back, "was a photo their mum took on the night of our engagement party. It's one of mine and Alice's favourite photographs." 

It was no wonder, really. Alfred was the taller of the two, much to Amelia's surprise. He was dressed to the nines, smiling straight into the camera with a red-rimmed pair of glasses he hadn't worn in the earlier photos, and Arthur stood beside him, incredibly proud in full uniform, looking on seriously. He looked incredibly attractive, a returning thought from the night she had first found out about his occupation,

"I can see why you like it. You guys must have been so proud-" She began, when Sakura interrupted,

"Excuse me, but please look at this one," She turned the page to reveal a remarkably similar one, only the brother's were grinning widely at each other. Their smiles were infectious, and the two girls found themselves smiling at each other,

"That represents how perfectly close they were. Their dad was not present in their lives for very long; from what I heard he was a criminal. She kicked him out and raised them with the help of her brother, Allistor. He was a sergeant, and inspired Arthur-san to join the force. Alfred was intent on starting his own business, and had many incredible ideas. He used to talk about how he wanted to change the world with them, make it a better place. He was very intelligent, but also very naive. He was late for class one morning, and decided to take his motorbike to get there faster," Sakura swallowed, and Amelia, who had listened enraptured, felt her breath catch on the lump in her throat,

"And I'm guessing that wasn't a good idea, huh?" Amelia attempted, but it came out strained,

"Arthur-san answered the call. He had barely qualified, and he went to the scene with one of his more experienced colleagues. He does not talk about it very much, but I know he took a break from the police for almost a year, and he still does not handle road traffic collisions if he can help it," She finished, and grasped her friend's hand with a watery smile, "It's hard to live without him, Amelia-san. Most friends at the funeral told me I was young, I would find someone else and move on, but I never wanted anyone else. There are times when Arthur-san struggles so much with the notion that Alfred is gone, struggles with that loneliness his brother left behind. I can see it on his face some days more than others." 

"I know that feeling too, Sakura. I lost my mum in my teens, it ripped our family apart," She admitted honestly, feeling her heart squeeze painfully for her two friend's greif. The ravenette let go of her hand, wiped the tears from her porcelain cheeks and turned to Amelia with a chastising glance,

"Which is why what you said was so inexcusable. Although, I cannot hold you entirely accountable on the grounds that you did not know," She admitted, and Amelia looked down with a sigh. Everything made so much sense now, although there were still many questions she wanted to ask. Arthur had been trying to help her regain something he didn't have, and she felt insurmountable guilt for the way she had reacted with regards to the situation. She felt the twist of shame and embarrassment as they danced about her consciousness; her reaction was formed on entirely baseless grounds. Yes, it had been an unfair way for Arthur to have discovered his past and Amelia felt as if her privacy had been invaded, but he had only been protecting his job. It was something Amelia knew had worked so hard for, and she reasoned he had every right to have bought it up to her. It was a sore subject, one that had the girl jumping on the defensive without realising, but he was right. Amelia's family had once been the most important thing in her life, and while she didn't have much of that anymore, she thought it was high time to protect what she had left. She hadn't wanted to hurt Arthur at all, and with the new information, it was time to apologise.

"I was wrong," She admitted, and while the effort to do so was hard, she felt much better,

"You were both wrong, Amelia-san, but you should tell that to him instead of me. You appear to have a lot in common," Sakura said as she shut the book. Amelia nodded,

"But how? What if he doesn't accept it?" 

"He's very compassionate, as you know. Just say how you feel, he will understand you without a doubt. In fact, he probably already does," She said earnestly. 

Amelia stepped into her shoes and then out into the street, a bag of leftovers in hand, offering her thanks to her friends with a smile. Sakura returned it, and Yao nodded his head in acknowledgment. 

"Thank you for dinner, it was really nice,"

"You are welcome any time, Amelia-san. Tell me what you think of Mr. Mew-san Goes to Osaka when you watch it, I thoroughly enjoyed it," Sakura enthused, and Amelia swore she saw her eyes sparkle. Amelia laughed, and agreed to watch the insane-sounding show. She stepped over to her own front door,

"Please remember what I said," Sakura pressed,

"Don't worry, dude, I got this," and the girl disappeared into darkness. Sakura turned to her eldest brother with a long sigh,

"Well, I hope this doesn't become a regular thing," Yao said with a frown, crossing his arms,

"I am not sure, _onii-chan_ , but I think that they are very good for each other," She began,

"Why's that?"

"I have witnessed it at the hospital, two patients with the same illness can heal each other when they talk. They seem to offer each other a kind of empathy that no one else can, which makes sense," She offered, and he brother seemed to take a while think about that,

"You may be right. Come in now, it's cold," 

\--

Amelia was greeted by darkness as she entered her shared house. She clicked the door shut behind her, shutting out the late evening chill that gnawed at her bones. A slither of light shone from upstairs, a horizontal rectangle on the steps. She hung up her coat and kicked off her shoes, and made her way into the kitchen. The kettle switched on and she set about making their respective drinks with a resolve she had hardly felt before. She took both cups upstairs, and stood nervously at the door of his bedroom which was hanging ajar. She manoeuvred her feet so she could push it open. It gently swung open, revealing her sheepish expression as she held up one of the two mugs in her hand. Arthur turned in the direction of the door with expectancy, then he schooled his expression into lowered eyebrows and pursed lips. He emitted a mixture of emotions, so many that Amelia couldn't judge which one he felt more strongly. He had an open box to his right, and was holding some kind of letter in his hand,

"Milk, no sugar," She repeated, and Arthur smiled a bit, setting the letter down gently,

"Thank you, Amelia." He said as she strode across the room. She walked to his place at the foot of the bed and offered the mug of tea to him, which he took from the young girl's hand gratefully, rotating it to hold the handle so as not to burn his fingers. She had hoped to talk to him about their argument, but he seemed engaged in other business. Her already apprehensive mind supplied her with the fact that he might not want to talk after all. Amelia smiled,

"I hope it's okay. I know you don't like people in here and you look super busy, so I'll get going," She said pointing to the door, which had been left ajar. Arthur brought the mug to his lips, making a wide gesture to the room with his free hand. 

"Not at all, come on in, I don't mind." He suggested after finishing his mouthful. The girl smiled at him appreciably, and stood rather awkwardly in the room. 

Arthur's room had always been a bit of an enigma to Amelia; mostly it remained locked as it doubled as his study, but when the American had gotten glimpses of it before Arthur had properly shut the door, it appeared very sparse and empty. Now, with the grey table lamp illuminating the pristine white walls, Amelia noted how neat and clean it actually was. It was the epitome of militaristic; the bed was perfectly made, without a crease or crumple present on the blue sheets. The hardwood wardrobe was well maintained, reaching from floor to ceiling. The mirror glimmered without a streak, and spotlessly polished photos of who Amelia presumed to be loved ones donned their simplistic frames as they perched upon the dresser and bedside tables. Everything matched, everything had its own place, and there wasn't a single speck of dust in sight. Honestly, Amelia wasn't very surprised, as Arthur's background in the police force must have taught him a thing or two about tidiness, respect and organisation. She could certainly feel it resonate within his room. 

"Arthur, we really need to talk about the other night," She began with a sigh. He nodded solemnly,

"Yes, I rather suppose we do. You can shut the door if you like," Arthur said absentmindedly, more concentrated in picking up the torn envelopes that had scattered in various piles on his bed.

"I don't mind, we're the only two that live here anyway," She said, taking in another look around the room. The box on the bed, the only thing not organised just so, caught her eye. She took a thoughtful sip of her coffee,

"Whatcha got there?" She inquired, and nodded to the box when the Englishman gave her a puzzled look,

"Oh, these? They're letters," He responded, flashing her an envelope, of which she could just about make out their current address scrawled on in script, "I was popping them away so you have my full attention," 

"Letters? Who're they from?" She asked with furrowed brows, tiling her head to the side while trying to identify the handwriting. Arthur grabbed the one he was reading, and she flashed her blue eyes in his direction. His face gave nothing away.

"These," He held the paper out to Amelia, "are from my brother," He said, meeting her gaze. 

"Alfred wrote you letters? That's awesome!" She enthused, taking the letter from him and examining it. The girl tried not to read the words, it was certainly private, but took a look at the paper nonetheless. It was more or less something to fiddle with. Arthur picked up on her use of the past tense, but didn't bring it up just yet,

"He used to, especially when he was in Michigan." Arthur replied, picking up the envelope that belonged with the letter.

"Wait a sec. Your brother went to Michigan?!" She exclaimed, looking back at him dumbfounded. He handed the envelope to his friend. The American took it and turned it over, her blood ran cold upon seeing the return address.

"Arthur, your brother was three blocks away from me and I never knew?" She said, turning slowly back to him. He chuckled and patted the space on the bed next to him. She plopped down, spilling a few droplets of coffee on her skirt. She made a mental note to change into her pyjamas later.

"That's mostly why I got them out. I was so surprised when I read it on your missing person's report that I just had to check. Turns out it's true. It's a small world, isn't it?" He mused, taking back the letter and its envelope from the dumbfounded American. He handled them with such care, like they were the most precious things in the world. The Englishman tugged at something else within the envelope while Amelia set her coffee down on the floor,

"He sent me pictures too, see?" And he pulled out a photograph from the paper. It revealed a young man, not unlike Arthur in his face although slightly chubbier, with the same blue eyes and blonde hair swept to the side just like it had been in Sakura's photo album. He was smiling brightly, posing with a cheeky peace sign against the rails of…

"Wait! That's Root Beer Falls! I used to camp near there with my family every Summer!" She cried, leaning against his shoulder, hand pressed to his arm. He turned to her with a chuckle,

"He called it Tahquamenon Falls, but I suppose it _does_ look like root beer." He said with a smile. Amelia fell back onto the bed, making a comical gesture of her head exploding with added sound effects. Arthur laughed at her actions and slid the photograph back into the envelope, followed by the letter itself. She sat up, and their comical mood was gone. It was replaced by a heavy, choking type of feeling that made the two of them swallow.

"Sakura told me. About Alfred." Amelia gingerly, not quite expecting a reaction. Arthur sighed, gripped the letter and took a swig of tea.

"Yes, I had a feeling she had. I watched Yao pull up outside and you two disappear next door, so I knew something was cracking off, " He finished. Amelia took the plunge,

"I'm sorry. For what I said and how I reacted." She blurted, and Arthur watched her for a moment. She squirmed under his scrutiny. After a moment, he sighed and leaned back, using his free hand to support himself.

"I'm sorry too. I shouldn't have gone snooping around, so your reaction was pretty much justified. And I can't blame you for the comments you made. It's not like you knew about Alfred," He mumbled, and took a sip of his tea. The girl had not been expecting that, not at all. That was surprisingly easy, considering she had psyched herself up for total rejection. It had been so simple that she still felt as if she had to explain herself,

"I know, but I shouldn't have gone as far as to say you didn't know anything about family. It's not your fault they aren't here, " She looked down at her skirt, remembering her roommate's pain, and then looked back to Arthur. He looked solemn, watching as the emotions played out across his face as if he was reliving something she couldn't see. His fingers traced fondly over the return address, the name scrawled reading _Alfred Kirland_. Not knowing what to do, the blonde girl placed a hand on his arm in sympathy. He scoffed a smile at the envelope and placed a hand over hers, now tracing lines on her fingers instead. He brought his tea to his lips again, and then turned back to her, placing the letter in the box.

"Motorbike accident, right?" She asked quietly, unsure as to whether she should even approach the subject. Arthur leant back, rubbing his palms on his blue slacks. 

"Yes. How much do you know? I can fill you in if you want," He mused, setting down the empty cup. She nodded,

"I got the jist of things from Sakura, but I don't know everything," The Englishman took a breath, held it and let it out slowly. 

"He went the same way anyone in a road traffic accident goes. Quickly, badly." Arthur began. 

"Alfred was a year younger than me. We rented this place together because it was cheap, and close to his university and my training grounds. He studied business, and took a gap year between his studies to see America. Saved up himself, like, since he worked a lot during that year. He wanted to change the world with his ideas, and god, Amelia, he was so clever. The things he used to say and his ideas… I don't know how he fit all that brain into his skull. He was very naive though. It was one of his qualities, he'd been like that since we were little. He bought that motorbike for his birthday, insured it, everything. I told him not to get one; I got called out to a lot of accidents while I was shadowing other officers, and I warned him that if he was ever one of them that I would kill him myself. I've shared many sights with paramedics since I qualified, to put it nicely. But, no, he was adamant. Granted, he didn't take it out often, but I used to worry when he did," He returned to his original position, hunched over with his forearms on his thighs. He seemed unreachable as he continued. 

"Anyway, he was late to a lecture one morning. I went through my usual speech of 'don't get daft on it' and the like. I told him to be careful on his way there and back, as usual. He took the motorbike and didn't come home. I went to work, got a call from a member of the public regarding a motorbike accident outside Richmond, and they told me they were doing CPR on the man. I told my supervisor, and we went to the scene. I didn't even need to take a proper look as the paramedics stood over him. I knew it was Alfred. They tried everything, but he had died on impact. He was just sprawled there like a doll-" Arthur cut himself off with a hard swallow. Amelia rubbed circles into his back,

"Skip that part, if you wanna. I'm here." She interjected quietly. Arthur covered his face with his hands and nodded. He took a breath and continued,

"Anyway, dashcams showed that he got knocked off after a funny turn and fell into oncoming traffic. Snagged black ice. Either way, my brother was dead at nineteen and I had to ring my mum. She flew right in and stayed for as long as she could. She was totally beside herself, Amelia. She couldn't believe it, and spent most of the time in a daze. To be honest, I did too. I carried his coffin before they had a chance to bring all of this health and safety shit in. Mum went back to Gibraltar and I stayed here. London was too hard for her. That was about three years ago. You know the rest." Arthur finished. 

Amelia lay her head against his shoulder, hoping it would provide her friend with even the slightest bit of comfort. He looked down to her and sighed, bringing a hand to her face to wipe away a tear that had formed on her cheek. 

"Don't you start, silly, or you'll set me off," He teased gently. She sniffed,

"I'm just so fucking _sorry_ because I know how you feel." She admitted bluntly and wiped her face with her hands.

"What's your story, love?" He enquired, and Amelia shook her head sadly,

"I want to say 'it's okay if you don't want to tell me', but I think it's time I know so I can help you," He pushed gently, brushing the hair out of her face. She swallowed, hard. He was totally right. It was her turn to steel herself against the rush of emotions that were about to break the dam she had spent so long building around her heart.

"My mom went with cancer not long after we moved here. She was my hero, Artie. She was the most amazing person on this very planet and I loved her so much. I had the most amazing childhood back in Michigan. I was popular in school, I had good grades, my parents used to dote on us all the time. We'd go camping, we'd go to the city on day trips, we'd do everything together. Anyway, my dad was an engineer and he got a job over here when I was fifteen, so we had to move. He wanted to go to Paris initially, that's where he's from, but he thought London would be a stepping stone. Mama had been complaining of pains in her chest for a good few months before that, but we were so busy with the move she didn't get it checked. We came over, set up in Richmond because we had the money. Mattie went to university, I went to school… And hated it. I was bullied pretty bad, and I didn't have many friends. I came at a point when everyone had firmly developed their own cliches, and I didn't fit into any of them. In the middle of all that, mama got her diagnosis at stage four. My self confidence was in tatters, Artie," She sobbed out, and Arthur let her lean against him for as long as she wanted,

"I would spend every morning, lunch and evening with her in the hospital for three weeks. I didn't care about school at all. She got sent home and the nurses used to come out to her, but we already knew that it wasn't going to be long. She died four weeks after that. I just watched her waste away, just like that. She was gone." She whispered, feeling his shirt getting damp under her cheek,

"It ripped us apart, me, papa and Mattie. Mattie quit university to work and make up for mom's absence. And papa… Well, papa started drinking. He couldn't cope; a glass became a bottle, a bottle became two, and before we knew it the shopping buggy was less food and more booze. Papa got aggressive when he drank, and I picked the wrong night to confront him. He smashed a bottle above me and told me that I should never have been born, that he and mama would have been happier without me and Mattie. I couldn't take it anymore, so I ran," She stopped, and Arthur wound an arm around her small shoulders, pulling her into his side with a squeeze,

"I'm sorry, Amelia." He admitted, tight lipped with sympathy. Amelia shook her head, 

"I stayed with a friend, Julianna, for a while. I thought she was a good friend, but she took my money without telling me, and when I had none left she rang the police to tell my father where I was. I ran again, and, well, now we're buddies," She finished with a watery smile, and Arthur offered her one in return.

"I don't think your papa meant the things he said," Arthur reckoned softly. The Michigander sniffed and wiped her nose,

"What makes you say that?" 

"He doesn't hate you. Your case has been attempted to be closed once already, and he has appealed it. He's waiting for _you_ , Amelia. He loves you." He admitted, and felt her squeeze her eyes shut. 

"You don't know that,"

"I know what grief looks like on an older sibling,"

It hurt. Like a knife to her chest, the guilt, regret and shame pierced every pore of her skin. It ran rampant through her body, making her feel sick and uneasy. Where there was once anger, there was sadness, she realised; the argument between her family had meant nothing; Amelia and her father had pushed each other to the brink, as instigated by the world around them. She realised that she missed the days camping in Michigan with her mama, papa and Mattie, the smell of the barbeque, the sun on her face. She missed the rainy night time walks with her father, huddled under the umbrella. They had come to England with no one but each other. 

"I miss him." She mumbled, voice breaking. 

"All the more reason. I miss Alfred like a hole in the head, but that's not going to bring him back," He conceded. He took the girl by her shoulders and turned her to face him. Her blue eyes were overflowing, spilling tears down her face. He brushed the hair out of her eyes,

"Let's go to the station in the morning. As I said, you can tell your family that you're okay, but will see them on your own terms." He prompted. A few moments of silence followed. Amelia had thought he had pushed too far earlier, but he hadn't pushed hard enough. 

And Amelia nodded. 

"Let's do it. I'll go see him, Artie, one day. Not yet. But I promise." She agreed. Arthur offered her a smile, with something undetectable hidden behind it. 

"We'll go together if you want. You don't have to do everything on your own." He offered. She nodded again. He pulled her into a hug and she cried harder than she had since her mother's funeral, safe in the knowledge that she wasn't as alone as she had felt for so many years. She had an inkling that her friend felt the same way too.


	10. Change

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi hi!! Hello! Oh my gosh, I have no excuse for being like, a month and a half late. I've just started university and completed my first week. It's been manic, moving out and getting enrolled and stuff, and I sincerely apologise for no updates. I haven't forgotten about this story, in fact the begining of this was written back in August, but I've been so rushed about that I couldn't finish it. I am SO sorry. I'll try to be quicker with the next part, but my timetable is LOADED until Christmas, so please forgive me if I don't get chance. Please, please, just know that I have no intentions of stopping this story. None at all. So don't give up on me yet!!
> 
> Here we go, things are kicking up a bit!!
> 
> Please enjoy!
> 
> Yuko

Twiddling thumbs was a habit Amelia thought she broke a long time ago, yet here she was, sitting in a spacious meeting room of the local police department, doing just that: twiddling her thumbs. It was an awkward action, simply because of the bandage wrapped tightly around her hand where she had been cut dropping that cutlery at the resturant. Arthur had been quite attentive to it, and she didn't mind the attention. They had seemed to become more aware of each other since their argument a week ago. It was strange; they seemed to have reached a deeper feeling of understanding between the two of them. Telling Arthur about her past had been a relief, a feeling that could only be described as a weight of her shoulders, and the two seemed to act a bit more freely around each other. Arthur hadn't minded at all, even though she knew talking about Alfred was still hard for him, when she asked questions about his younger brother. Then again, neither did she. Amelia was more than happy to divulge more information about her family, and about her childhood in Michigan. The girl felt a deeper connection with her roommate, perhaps one she hadn't felt with anyone in a while. Their late night chats had become the new normal, spending time sitting next to each other in the lounge with the TV down low, totally invested and hanging onto every word the other spoke. Amelia had almost become addicted to spending time with him, and she just wanted to hear his voice more and more. They hadn't just spoken about their tradgedies; Amelia had learned so much more about Arthur. He was kind of bad at cooking, he fell off his bike and broke his ankle when he was seven, he loved classic literature and he believed in fairies (although she had to pretend she was suprised, because Sakura had already told her that). This time, though, she was deliberately avoiding eye contact with Arthur, glancing at the desk, the boring decor, the plastic blue chairs or at her lap. She fiddled with some stray string that had unraveled from her blue jumper, and she brushed some hair behind her ear. Through her peripheral, she saw Arthur watching her intently. He could sense her nervousness. They were here to shut her missing person's report, and inform her estranged family of her wellbeing. Arthur had spoken to the sergeant on his team, and had agreed for Amelia to come down to the station and have an interview with the two of them and her friend's higher up over what was going to happen next. To say she was frit was an understatement; she was about to attempt a resolution to her family issues, and even though she was rehearsing what she was about to tell the sergeant over and over in her head in full confidence that it would be said as she intended, nerves still lingered like the tickle of static electricity. 

Sergeant Waterford made his way into the room. A burly man of around 60, his face was worn by age. Wrinkles crossed his skin as he stepped through the door he had closed with a disciplined grace. He held himself with a certain poise, shoulders back, and vertebrae straight, one that could only have come about through years of discipline. His uniform was spotless and without a crease, as he made his way into the room. The gentleman commanded respect, without so much as a verbal request.

Arthur stood up and offered his commanding officer a nod of his head, a greeting that was returned by the older gentleman. Amelia moved her jacket from her lap, and item she had just been aware she had been holding, and made a move to stand. She was uncertain as to whether or not she should do the same until Arthur placed his hand on her shoulder in an act to keep her seated. 

"At ease, Officer Kirkland. You are here informally, so to speak." The man said, voice deep and clear. 

"Much appreciated, sir," Arthur replied, sitting down. Amelia noticed the change in his tone; his voice became sharper and, somehow, more posh than his usual Southern England dialect. Arthur sat down on the chair, but not before the sergeant did. The elder man made himself comfortable as Amelia squirmed, he barked the cough of a smoker and fixed the pair with his striking blue eyes.

"We are here about your missing person's report, Miss Jones." A statement, not a question.

"Y-Yes, that's right," She stammered, intimidated by his demeanour. The man flicked an eye over to Arthur,

"And your involvement in this predicament, too, Officer Kirkland."

"That is correct." 

The sergeant leant back in his chair,

"Need I remind you that, while your kindness to the community is very admirable, your current arrangement could cost you your job," The man mused, and the young people looked down at their laps in shame, 

"Well," The older man said, clapping his hands together, "I am ready to listen to your explanation." 

Arthur recounted the events of the last few months, from the night he found Amelia, to her stay in hospital, to their signing of the lease, to their current situation, and Amelia pitched in to add things to his story. It was a joint effort, but the American was astounded to see her roommate acting so serious. His language was thoroughly descriptive, and each syllable was pronounced correctly and efficiently, a total contrast to his usual dropping of consonants and elongating vowels. The sound was musical to Amelia's ears, and she felt her stomach flutter. She took a look at him as he was speaking, as if he was a professional public speaker. Shoulders squared and broad even behind his jumper, his hand gesticulating appropriately, gracefully, purposefully. The officer was speaking clearer than she ever could, and it was very attractive even if she couldn't admit it to herself. He glanced in her direction, face stern and emitting the same kind of poise as the gentleman in front, yet with a gentle expectancy twinkling beyond those green orbs, and her blood rushed through her ears when her heart missed a beat. This feeling. She knew it, deep down, but put it down to her nerves. She turned to the old man,

"This is why we're here, sir. I really wanna shut this case. Please don't fire Arthur, sir, he didn't know. He hasn't done anything wrong. I know this job is so important to him-" 

"Amelia-"

They were interrupted by rambunctious laughter, and they both looked at Sergeant Waterford in surprise.

"Miss Jones, I have no intentions of firing Mr. Kirkland. I am suffiently happy to void my implications towards the loss of his job now that I have the full story. Either way, I do not wish to lose such a fine young man. You should know this already, but Arthur Kirkland is one of the hardest working and most respected officers on my team. I could not simply lose such a gem because of a misunderstanding," He said, "Kirkland, please do not worry. Missing persons is not your division, I would not expect you to know the database by heart." 

The sergeant may or may not have noticed, but the two let out a sigh of relief. They glanced at each other with small smiles, too enraptured by the stern aura of the older man to offer each other much more.

"So, how would you like to go about this. Miss Jones, would you like to notify your family of your whereabouts?" He enquired, pulling a form from his desk.

"No." The girl said, a little too quickly and sternly, causing the men to eye her. She cleared her throat, squirming in her chair. 

"No, sir. I don't want them to know. I'd really like to approach my family in my own time, the situation is kinda, uh, delicate?" She corrected, hoping that she had adequately articulated her approach. The older man looked to Arthur for a further explanation,

"Amelia ran away after a fight with her father as a result of her mother's death," Arthur clarified, and the gentleman nodded. His sharp blue eyes softened,

"I see. Please accept my apologies on your mother's death, Miss Jones,"

"There's nothing to say sorry for, but thanks. I appreciate it." She responded quietly, and received a sympathetic look from her roommate. The older man continued with cough,

"I must inform you that your family will still be notified of your safety, even if they do not know your whereabouts,"

"Yeah, I know that, sir. Arthur went through it with me before you arrived," 

"Good. Then I will fill out this form for you to sign. Your signature will be seen as consent to the information you have chosen to provide to us being released to your family." The man said decisively. He picked up a pen, the desk tidy rattled, and he spent a few moments scrawling down words and ticking boxes on the form. Where the man could not see, Arthur reached into the space between them and gave her hand a firm squeeze. She looked over at him, he blinked softly and offered her a brief, gentle smile. She relished in the touch, before it disappeared. The man looked up and turned the paper to face Amelia, placing the pen on the dotted line,

"Have a read, print your name, then sign, please." He instructed, and the girl stood up to gingerly take the pen and paper. She read the handwritten notes on her situation, and saw that the box regarding the disclosure of her details to her family had been crossed out. She hesitated, pen hovering. Was this really what she wanted? The memories of the night she left came back, the bottle above her head, the alcohol on her clothes, the way she writhed out of Mattie's hold and the burn in her thighs as she fled down the street. For months, she had not had to consider anyone but herself, keeping herself alive to survive another torturous day on the streets. She thought for herself again momentarily, on the verge of refusing to sign, then she stopped. She couldn't think about herself any more. There was more at stake than her own wellbeing here, for the man she owed everything to was sitting right behind her. Arthur deserved this much, she reasoned. She took a breath and held it as she wrote out her full name on the line, then scrawled her signature next to it. She sighed, and handed the paper back to the man. He took it, and they all stood up. The man walked around to the girl and shook her hand,

"It was lovely to meet you, Miss Jones. Please have faith in us, and the case will be shut within 5-7 days." He said,

"Likewise, sir. You have an amazing team, I have loads of faith," It was a comment unexpectedly directed towards Arthur, and she acknowledged the pride she felt when she thought of him. It seemed displaced, something unusual for her to say, but she figured she must compliment her hero in some way after everything she had put him through. They parted, and the old man turned to Arthur, 

"Thank you for helping this young lady. It is incredibly admirable, but I expect nothing less of you, Kirkland." He stated, and said man looked down at Amelia with a smile that was returned. He turned back to his superior,

"It is my duty to protect the people, sir." 

"Yes, and if I may, I would like to request some of your time. I need to have a word with you privately, if Miss Jones does not mind." And suddenly both eyes were on her,

"Yeah, sure! Of course, you guys go ahead, I'll wait outside the station for you," She spluttered, 

"But it's cold out there," Arthur commented, and Amelia flicked a hand in dismissal,

"I'll be okay, you guys do your officer stuff," She said, and closed the door as she left. Inside, the two men began a muffled conversation. Outside, the young blonde braced herself against the door and focused on her breathing. Things were moving quickly, and she didn't just mean with regards to her family. She had a very sneaky suspicion that her feelings towards Arthur were starting to change too. She steeled herself. _No more change. Not yet, it's too much to handle right now,_ she told herself before she could entertain the thought further. She shrugged her jacket on, and made her way back to the reception. 

Arthur watched his friend go and felt a bit of longing. The door clicked shut, and Amelia's form disappeared. The man spent a few seconds watching the portal, before turning to face his superior.

"What is it that you want to talk about, sir?" Arthur enquired, and the man cleared his throat. 

"Well, it is something I should really speak to you about when you are at work, but I just cannot wait to tell you. You are being promoted, Kirkland." 

Arthur blanched, "Promoted?" 

"Yes, my dear fellow." 

Promoted to what? Last time Arthur had heard, Sergeant Waterford had no desire to retire from his position. His superior's role was the next up from Arthur's, with an infinite amount of responsibility, so naturally he assumed that is what he meant. Arthur did not doubt his competence as an officer; he had worked hard for his position, and did everything in a thorough and concise manner. He did his job and he did it superbly, but Arthur did not feel entitled to a promotion. He was happy with the way things were. He wanted for an explanation with a puzzled glance,

"Are you… leaving us, Sarge?" Arthur asked, and the old man shook his head.

"This isn't a promotion within our department. I'm going to give you the details, but you must uphold the utmost confidentiality with the following information. You must tell no-one. I trust you, Arthur." He said, with a strange sincerity that Arthur hadn't heard before.

"I maintain confidentiality with my job regardless of the situation, sir. Is this more secretive?"

"Yes, lad. Should you choose to accept this offer, you will be working with MI6. I don't believe I need to divulge much more for you to get the gist." He said, and Arthur suppressed an audible gasp. His heart clambered up from his chest and into his throat, where it pounded wildly. Working with the secret intelligence service meant businesses. There was something going on in the city that the police didn't know about. He and his superior took a seat as the gentleman explained.

Arthur left the station after bidding his colleagues a rather weary goodbye, and found Amelia waiting outside, watching videos on her phone. She didn't look up, not even as he approached, and he took the time to really revel in the feeling of seeing her. It had only been about 20 minutes since they were in the same room, but the girl seemed to have an effect on him that he couldn't pin down. He had noticed it a few times, how being with her felt naturally calming, especially so after the news he had just received. Gosh, he wanted to tell her so badly, just how much her life could potentially be in danger. MI6 were tracking several large organised crime syndicates throughout the city, so Waterford had said. They were due to extend it out into the entire country, but had chosen to beat them in the capital first.they need footmen, a secret police of some kind, to gather evidence on the street of their goings on. Apparently, the syndicates were trafficking drugs, taking millions of pounds worth of them into the country each week, and amongst the other heinous crimes they were committing with their gang warfare, young girls Amelia's age and younger were being kidnapped and trafficked too. He watched her, as her long eyelashes swooped over her cheeks when she blinked in the cold mid-morning sun, as her rosebud lips opened to respirate a plume of air, and Arthur felt sick to his stomach at the thought of someone spiriting her away. He now knew how her family must feel. He was given the option to go away and think about his decision, but watching her now, he knew conclusively in his mind what had to be done. 

_"Be aware, Arthur, that not everyone can take up this job. One mistake, one wrong move, and it could cost you your life. Before you make a decision, I want you to consider what, or who, you want to stay alive for."_ His superior's words rang in his head as if they had just been spoken. He was going to take this job. Sure, Amelia was a good friend to him, and so was Sakura, and should anything happen, he could count on them and his mother to mourn him, but he knew nobody could protect them like he could. He sighed, and placed a hand on Amelia's shoulder. She jumped, and looked up at him,

"Sorry I kept you waiting, I tried to be as quick as I could." He said, and watched the pretty American frown deeply with concern. He blinked,

"What?"

She reached out a cold hand to press its palm against his face, and felt his cheek redden at the contact. Her thumb brushed over his cheek gently,

"What did he say to you? You're really pale." She asked, and Arthur realised that he had been standing still with his mouth open for too long and Amelia needed an answer.

"Ah, oh, um, nothing important, I suppose. I'm just hungry. Yes, I'm starving, let's get lunch?" He had been reduced to a blubbering mess, and he wasn't sure why. He wanted to kick himself. Amelia gave him another suspicious glance, and nodded reluctantly, before removing her hand. Arthur felt the urge to just grab it in his and start walking, although he wasn't sure where that came from. He smiled at her sheepishly as she tucked her phone away in her pocket. The two made their way down the pavement, away from the station, hands tucked into pockets as the busy London traffic roared.

"Hey," He called, louder to get above the noise. She looked up at him as she kicked a stone, the object scattering across the walkway. He was practically bursting with the need to tell her,

"I'm really proud," He began, "of what you did today. It's not much, but it's a step in the right direction." 

She smiled vibrantly, it made his heart race, "I'm proud too. I think I'm starting to understand that we were both in the wrong that night. I mean, I can empathise with how you felt about Alfred, and I don't think I'd want papa to feel the same way about me. I don't know if I can approach them yet, but maybe with time I can sort something out." 

He nodded, "That's my girl," 

Her grin grew mischievous, and she bumped his arm with her shoulder, "I couldn't have done it without you though. You really are like a superhero from the movies."

"Not at all, I just like to help people," He mused, and she rolled her eyes.

"That's what superheros do, duh. They should add capes to your uniform." She chimed, a spring in her step now. They laughed at that, but inside, Arthur felt uneasy about what was to come. 


	11. Purple

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello guys! It's been a month, and I'm back. University is going amazing, and thank you all so much for your well wishes on the previous chapter. It really a dream to be here, despite the current situation worldwide. My place has just gone into a second lockdown, so most of my stuff is online. Hard, being nursing, but it does mean I get to spend more time on this fic. This one isn't long though, although I'm going to try to make them longer!
> 
> Anyway, hope you like this one. Nothing worse than meeting someone without warning!
> 
> By the way, Amelia's favourite song is Dynamite by Tiao Cruz. My flatmates play it a lot, and it fits well with Amelia's age!
> 
> (I love Sex Pistols.)
> 
> Enjoy!
> 
> Yuko xx

"Let's decorate the spare bedroom." 

Amelia only registered that she had dropped the bread knife she had been holding when it clattered to the floor. She turned around, one of the two buttered pieces of toast already in her mouth when she stared at Arthur incredulously. The man sat at the breakfast table a few feet away, mindlessly sipping the tea in his favourite mug and flicking through the newspaper. The sun hadn't yet risen, so they dithered about under the warm yellow glow of the kitchen light. It was 7am, and they were both clad in their respective work clothes, ready to start the day. Arthur looked a bit more vibrant than Amelia, who was notably not a fan of early mornings, as he looked up when she didn't offer a response,

"Is there something the matter? You look taken amiss…" He asked, as if he hadn't just stunned the girl into silence. She removed the toast, crumbs decorating her work blouse and the floor much to Arthur's dismay, and gaped at him wide-eyed. She fumbled for words,

"You mean the room I'm in? Like, my room? You want to decorate it for… me?" She asked,

"Of course, it's habit to call it the spare room. Yes, I don't see why it's a problem." 

She accentuated her shock, and Arthur slammed shut the newspaper, slightly irritated. 

"Why are you looking at me like I've just kicked your cat?" He mused, and Amelia stalled for a second, thinking carefully about her next words,

"Hey, I appreciate that you wanna do it and all, but it's Alfred's…" She trailed off, unable to finish the sentence. She had hoped he had taken the inclination; Amelia's room still contained traces of Alfred's memorabilia. 

The wardrobes still had a few clothes in them, and the drawers too, as well as the posters of superheros on the walls, which Amelia couldn't have brought herself to take down even if she didn't like them. A lot of his textbooks and business literature were still on the shelf by the door, boxes of memories and photos still under the bed, and trinkets of things he had collected throughout the years were still dotted in different places. It was all a telltale sign of a sudden death, the thought that everything was still in the same place it had been left in the day he had died, and the grief that had followed. It was an odd feeling, being in that room, and it made Amelia shiver. On one hand, she had felt incredibly close to a man she had never met, getting a vague impression of what Arthur's brother may have been like when he was alive, and she felt as if they would have been very good friends had things been different. On the other, she sometimes lay awake wondering how her companion had felt on that day, and the feelings that stirred were ugly and immature, in the sense that she hadn't nursed them. The room tore off the plaster of festering emotional wounds relating to her mother, and Amelia couldn't handle that. While it was true that Amelia had accumulated a fair amount of things since she moved in, she knew how dear Alfred had been, and still was, to Arthur. Those things that had belonged to him in his short life had been untouched for a long time, and Amelia was keen to keep them that way out of respect for the dead man and his elder brother. The waitress' now-greatest fear was that redecorating the room she occupied would make Arthur feel as if he had lost his brother forever, and she didn't want that. Arthur's face softened as she kicked the crumbs around the tiles with her feet, noting to sweep up when she came home in the evening. He stood up from his chair and ran a hand over his face. He reached for her free hand,

"Amelia, please don't worry about that. This is no longer Alfred's house, it's yours." He said, honestly, but Amelia could see the pang of upset that lingered behind his steely emerald eyes. She couldn't meet them, choosing to shake her head,

"I can't put you through something like that. I don't mind the room the way it is, Artie, honestly. I just… I don't want you to be upset,"

"It would upset me either way, whether that meant throwing his stuff out or leaving you in a room that didn't feel like your own, but I wouldn't have suggested it if I didn't think I could handle it." He responded, firmly, as he ran his hands down her bare arms. The act was supposed to be comforting, but the warmth of his hands left goosebumps in their wake. The feeling she had been trying to ignore a few days prior returned at his touch, and she squashed it once again. Amelia looked up then,

"Are you sure? I mean, I don't want you to feel obligated-" 

"I don't, I want to do this. Are you up for it?" 

She paused, then nodded. It was that smile of his, that damn smile that curved so perfectly, and she was weak at the knees. Sure, Arthur offered her half smiles every how and again when they bickered and bantered, but his full smile was so damn breathtaking that Amelia didn't know what to do. He looked like a movie star, police uniform and all. _Curse you, English dude, how did you get so good looking?_ She fumed, and cleared her throat. This certainly wasn't helping to feelings she was trying to quash. 

Arthur checked his watch, and sighed, his warmth leaving her arms,

"Time to go. The daily grind begins," He ushered, leaving the kitchen for the porch, and they set about gathering their things together. Amelia reached for their lunch in the fridge and stuffed hers into her backpack. She held Arthur's out with the other hand and he took it in return for her coat. They both left the kitchen together while she zipped up her bag, and checked that Arthur had everything he needed as she shrugged on her coat. He was doing the same. Pre shift time was like clockwork for them, they had fallen into a routine of looking out for each other before they went their separate ways. They reached the front door, and Arthur held it open for her as she pushed her hair into a messy ponytail, hair too short for it to make much of a difference. She stepped out first, into the cold and dark of the street still lit by yellowy street lights. The frost that glittered on the pavements bit at her fingers, and she turned to wait as Arthur shut the door behind them. He rammed the key into the lock and it turned. A click sounded, and the duo made their way down the frosty steps and onto the pavement. Here, they would bid each other farewell, and part ways. This morning was different. Amelia made a move to walk off, when his voice called her attention. She spun around, eyes glittering in the street lights with expectation. Arthur's hands were stuffed deep into his pockets, and he regarded the ground for a minute, before opening his mouth,

"I just really want to say that you have a real gift." He said, and the girl tilted her head,

"I mean to say, that since I told you about Alfred, you haven't judged, and you have listened and regarded my feelings above anything else. I hardly expected anything else, since that appears to be your nature, but I've had to do a lot of healing as far as his death is concerned."

"Yes, I know. And I know how you feel. I wasn't gonna judge you, Artie, especially not over Alfred. Still, I don't agree with you. I still feel pretty bad over the things I said when we- " She began,

"For goodness sake, Amelia," He said chuckling, "Are you still on that? Look, it was a misunderstanding. Of enormous proportions." 

She tilted her head, slightly confused at what he was attempting to say. If he wasn't just offering her a compliment, when what was he trying to say? He shook his head,

"I'm not good with words, Amelia. What I'm trying to say is thank you. I would never have spoken about him so freely if you hadn't been around. I've hardly spoken to Sakura about it, and she was the only other person closest to him apart from our mum. So, um, thank you. You just seem to make people feel extremely comfortable around you." He finished, and Amelia wasn't sure if it was the light, but she saw pink in his cheeks. The praise was unusual from her housemate, especially as sincere as this. She smiled, and missed the fact that he flinched,

"I want to help you the way you've helped me, Arthur. More than anything. I'm always down to talk about the stuff that's bothering you, whether that's work or Alfred. That's what friends are for, right?" 

_Friends_. It didn't feel accurate. The word felt unnatural on her tongue.

"I suppose. Anyway, I'll let you go. Have a great morning, Amelia. I'll see you in the evening." And there was notably more conviction in his farewell there than other mornings. She smiled vibrantly at him again, and turned. Arthur watched her disappear, her small form disappearing down the street and into the blue morning hues. He had meant every single word that he had said, and clutched at the front of his coat. The burn that Alfred's loss had left wasn't stinging as bad as it used to, and he knew it had been her that had burst his shell wide open. He felt as if his days of being a brooding recluse were over, and he was beginning to see that the people around him were truly important. He really could not disregard her kindness, and her ability to encourage him into speaking with his existing family and friends. He smiled at her, kicked a stone and made off in the opposite direction. His heart was full and warm with a sensation he hadn't felt before. 

-

The jingle of music filtered out from the radio, and the plastic-like aroma of fresh paint could be smelt throughout the house. Arthur climbed the stairs with careful precision, a cup of tea in one hand, a cup of coffee in the other, being careful not to spill it everywhere, as per his usual habit. He took a moment to balance one of the mugs on the banister, shaking his palm and hissing at the hot beverage's assault on his nerves. He waited a few seconds, then picked it up again. He climbed the remaining stairs and rounded the corner, paying no mind to anything else in the hallway, into his housemate's bedroom. He paused at the door for a few minutes, and felt his insides melt at the scene. Amelia was on her knees, which were bare thanks to the shorts she was wearing, paint brush in hand, and skimming it over the skirting boards with a gentle precision. The pastel purple tipped paint brush scratched against the masking tape they had used to keep the skirting, which had been glossed by him a few days ago, free of paint. He watched her, with her tongue poking out, against the rare but cold November sunlight streaming through the curtainless window, making her blonde locks shimmer. They had made very good progress on the room together, doing it between shifts. Considering Amelia had never decorated a room before now, she had done a splendid job; the walls had been stripped of Alfred's old wallpaper, and had to be papered over again to hide the years of peeling paint and wallpaper paste from the previous owners. He had shown her exactly what to do on the wallpaper board and she had cracked right on with one wall while he had done the other, turning around and asking him his opinion every so often. He had pulled her into a hug at her beaming face when she had completed the far wall, and she giggled with pride. He had finished the feature wall later that day. Since then, she had painted the bedroom furniture white while he had glossed the door, skirting and window frame. The ceiling had a fresh coat of emulsion, much to Amelia's chagrin as she had complained about the white spots of paint in her hair. It had made her look so incredibly endearing, as she stomped her foot on the ground and puffed out her cheeks, and she looked endearing right now. And that was the issue; the whole scene was incredibly domestic. It made Arthur's stomach twist into knots when he saw her, and he dared for a second to entertain the idea that their current relationship status could be something else. The Englishman couldn't deny that Amelia was incredibly beautiful, even more so than the night he had first found her in his kitchen. He had never thought it would have come to this. Something was stirring under the surface regarding Amelia, and he had a feeling that the usual admiration he had towards her was something more. He caught himself before he fell down that rabbit hole, knowing how dangerous it was to even attempt to put a name to it. To fall in love with Amelia, because surely _that's_ what was happening, would be awkward, messy and unreasonable, considering his job and the fact that she was his housemate of all things. He stared at her, convincing himself that it was most certainly not the case, that they were just friends and he would get over it.

"You gonna stand there like a dummy all day, or am I gonna drink some coffee?" She bemused, and glanced up at him through her lavishly long eyelashes with a grin. He almost dropped the hot drinks in surprise, and fixed her with a frown. She stood up laughing, shorts falling to their usual position mid-thigh, and walked over to relieve Arthur of her mug,

"Why do you have so much sugar in your coffee?" He grumbled, "I didn't need any at all before you came, now we're running out again," She took a sip and winked at him from over her cup,

"Ah, c'mon, Artie! Admit it, your life is sweeter with me in it, baby," She teased, and he choked,

"Yes, well," He muttered, willing the heat to leave his cheeks, "it's your turn to buy the sugar. I'm fed up of buying it." 

"Wait, no, no, no. That was too easy. Where's your retort, huh? Or did I finally get to you?" She enquired, giving him a strange look. The question was valid, but for some reason he couldn't find a comeback to match her with. It was strange, as he was usually able to match her wit. God dammit, what was going on with him. When he didn't answer, Amelia just shrugged,

"Admiring the room?" She said, walking over to collect her coffee, wiping the stray droplets of paint from her fingers and onto her shorts. He cleared his throat and looked down at her, and the small smile that she hid behind her cup. _Admiring something, that's for sure_. 

"Yes, we're making progress." He mused, and took a sip. He patted her arm,

"How did you learn to decorate? We used to just hire a decorator, but it's a lot cheaper to do it yourself…" She hummed, and he paused, remembering that the girl certainly must have come from money to live in affluent Richmond. Arthur supposed he may never have seen the money she had growing up. They had been just above the bread line on their single mother's wage.

"Ah, my uncle Allistor was a man of many talents. I used to watch him closely when he decorated with my mum when I was a kid, as I got older I got stuck in helping him." He responded, "It certainly _is_ cheaper, but it's also fun. Or at least I think so," 

She hummed, "It's like a cool team building exercise, but with something pretty to look at at the end!" 

"Quite right. Well," he took one last sip of his tea, and set it down on the step ladders, "Shall we get moving?" She smiled and mimicked his action. Arthur rolled up his sleeves and they got to work. 

The radio proved too much of a distraction eventually, and the two found themselves bawling along to the classic tunes that twinkled around the room. They had ended up using their paint brushes as microphones, but even more so when Amelia's favourite song came on. She dropped the brush in the pot and began to dance, very lively but very badly, around the room. Arthur wrinked his nose, and she stuck out her tongue,

"Still better than Sex Pistols!" She called,

"Take that back," He said, wagging the paint brush in her dircetion. She just grinned, and Arthur watched her with curiosity, but reached out a hand when she got too close to the step ladder,

"Amelia, be careful!" He warned. She grinned vivaciously and grabbed his open hand, pulling him up to his feet. The girl lost her balance, and the two bumped chests as they eyed each other. They were incredibly close,

"What are you doing?" He asked, looking down into her baby blues. His heart was uneasy at their proximity, but neither of them pulled away,

"Dancing is boring when you do it on your own," She claimed with an elaborate shrug, and pulled him, paint brush still in hand, into the middle of the sheet-covered floor. Arthur did not want to dance to this, it was totally outside of his genre of music, but he threw caution to the wind and joined her. They had no idea how long they had spent dancing or bickering lively, but Arthur's loaded paint brush proved a valuable weapon when she cheeked him. The girl had finished multiple songs squealing about the pastel purple paint Arthur had decorated her bare arms, legs and hair with. They wrestled with the object, Amelia appearing the victor eventually, when she returned to him the same treatment. They laughed loudly at they state of each other, and Arthur quickly realised that he hadn't felt this giddy with childish antics in such a long time,

" _This has been Jeremy Houser with the midday radio programme! I hope you've all had fun, and continue to do so as we go into the afternoon! See you guys tomorrow!"_ The station DJ announced, and was followed by an influx of advertisements. Arthur walked over and turned the radio to low, breathlessly grinning. Amelia was doing the same, reaching up to pull the mugs, now cold, from the step ladder. She held them up,

"Tea break?" She said, and he nodded urgently. 

"You're barmy, where do you keep all that energy?" He breathed, leaning against the window sill. Her existing grin widened, and patted her stomach. He was in fits of laughter once again, as she left the room. Arthur took a few minutes to catch his breath, eyeing the passers by through the window. He considered the midday chill, but didn't let it dampen his boisterous mood. He sighed, and eyed as an unfamiliar blue car came racing down the road at a speed that may have warranted a ticket. The car pulled up outside their house and he readjusted his spot against the window to take a better look. Strange. He watched keenly as a woman, mid-sixties, with blonde hair stepped out and over a puddle that had frozen over. She was wearing a coat, at least, but her other clothes were light and flowy; navy blue linen trousers, a baggy nylon blouse with a flower print. She looked as if she had just stepped off a plane from the Mediterranean. _No,_ Arthur took in a sharp breath, _surely not._ His body was filled with dread. They couldn't meet like this, especially _not_ since they were _covered_ in purple paint! He wanted to scream, especially so when a tall, tanned brunette man emerged from the driver's side. He ran to the door of the room.

-

Amelia made herself busy with refilling the kettle. She made their drinks as usual, but this time she was beaming like a lunatic. She looked down at her purple paint-splattered legs and chuckled to herself. She had been enjoying the decorating way more than she thought she would. Initially, she had thought it sounded like a chore, yet as they were picking out the paints and wallpaper she had felt a bubble of excitement. The way the room had transformed from masculine to feminine colours, and the way the skirting boards had transitioned from cream to pristine white was certainly satisfying. To Amelia, it certainly felt therapeutic; as if the old times were being covered with something brand new. It was bittersweet, she thought, for the both of them, but the change signalled a new life for her. She remembered the relief she had felt about closing her missing person's report and hummed to herself contentedly, briefly entertaining the idea of closing the emotional wounds that had started to scab over for good. She hardly got to entertain it for long, as a knock at the door caused her to pause. She frowned, and glanced at the kitchen door for the sounds of footsteps on the stairs, indicating Arthur was going to answer the door. She hardly heard a thing over the rumble of the kettle, and figured that she lived here too. She left the room to answer the door. 

She emerged into the hallway, and made a reach for the door. Arthur stood at the top of the stairs and called to her as the portal swung open to reveal a woman in her mid-sixties with brilliantly blonde hair tucked into a bun, gentle features and radioactive green eyes that fixed her with a firm, suspicious and confused stare. She was accompanied by a tanned gentleman who was holding car keys, who seemed a bit surprised by her appearance in the doorway. The cold air reached Amelia's bare, paint covered legs, and the chill breeze ruffled her already messy hair as the woman regarded her. She opened her mouth,

"Who are you?" She asked, accent familiarly British. Her voice would have been soft if it were not for the harshness behind the question.

"Uh, I'm Amelia, ma'am? Can I help you with anything?" She asked, confused. The woman leaned around the door, seeking an entry into the building of which the younger girl was blocking. 

"Why yes, I suppose there is. Is Arthur here?" She asked, readjusting her grip on the purse in her hands impatiently. As if on cue, the man in question appeared next to Amelia looking rather sheepish. He was trying to rub the paint off his face, she noticed, and gave him a confused look.

"Hi mum," He muttered, and Amelia looked to the woman, who had taken a step back and eyed the pair of them. The green orbs flicked from the American to her son. Amelia turned to Arthur very slowly, who offered her a _very_ apologetic smile. Time stood still like that for a few seconds until the older woman sighed,

"Well," She cleared her throat, "I know nothing about young people nowadays. Painting each other may be foreplay for all I know-" 

"Mum, for god sake!!" Arthur cried, thoroughly embarrassed, yanking a now very bashful Amelia, who was trying to hide her legs, arms and face, away from the portal. The American was totally mortified.

"What? It was an _observation_ , my love. Maybe you should… clean yourselves up? I'll be waiting in the living room." She announced, and made her way into the building. The pair stood at the door as they watched her retreat into the house. Arthur shut the door slowly, as if someone on the other side might suddenly sweep in and take him away from the situation, and glanced down at a very, very angry Amelia.

"Why didn't you say something?!" She whisper-shouted,

"I didn't know!" He returned at the same volume. The girl looked to the stairs, and made off. She got to the bottom, and turned back to him. She threw her hands into the air in exasperation and growled at him before running up them faster than he had ever seen her. He ran a hand over his face, paint flaking off and onto his fingers as he did so, and sighed. 

This was going to be the hardest thing he had ever done. 


	12. Harmony

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I have nothing to say about my two months absence except for "I'm incredibly sorry."
> 
> This chapter was fueled by tea, Quavers and post-assignment adrenaline. There will be a chapter based on Christmas and New Year that I hope will be written and up between now and January. This comes at my own inability to write anything related to Christmas unless it is Christmas, so look forward to that!!
> 
> There's been some confusion in the comments about my whereabouts in the world: I am British! Yup, born and raised here. I'm aware that places do things differently, so my apologies if there's some cultural differences. 
> 
> Anyway, enjoy this one! Merry Christmas, but I'll be seeing you soon!
> 
> Oh! I have made a Twitter if you guy want to follow me, there will be updates on Lights Out on there and I'll answer any questions you have there too! Its @ThatYuko - and I follow back!
> 
> Enjoy! 
> 
> Yuko xx

Alice Kirkland was everything Amelia had thought she would be - clever, pertinent, polite and rather old fashioned. She was the epitome of the stereotypical English woman, and even though her clothes told of a Mediterranean lifestyle, she had all the poise and grace of a child raised in the 1960s. Antonio, Arthur's step dad who had introduced himself with a heavy Spanish accent, seemed polar to her. He was animated, boisterous and bright; tanned skin, dark hair, lively green eyes. They were an unusual pair, Amelia acknowledged over the top of her mug, but she supposed opposites did attract. Hell, she saw that in her own relationship with Arthur, although _notably not_ a pair, the two were extremely unlikely friends who would never have met outside of their own exceptional circumstances. She really couldn't regard the thought any longer, especially not when she spotted the love that echoed in the pair's eyes when they looked at each other. She smiled around the rim of her mug, recognising the love her own parents had shared years ago. The connection didn't hurt as much as she thought it would. They sat in rapt silence, almost awkwardly, and all looked up when Arthur reentered the room. He was sans paint this time, as they had scrubbed up, carrying a few plates of assorted biscuits and eyed Amelia with a fond smile. They had explained to the elder couple their progress within Amelia's bedroom, and instead of the mortification she had been expecting from the woman at the notion of transforming her son's room, Amelia was welcomed warmly and with enthusiasm. She and Arthur had quickly recovered from their initial embarrassment, and had opted to partake in conversation in the living room. In England, this meant more tea than could humanly be consumed, surplus biscuits and plenty of toilet trips. She returned his smile as he handed one plate of the sweet treats over to his mum and stepdad, who thanked him, and he plopped down beside her and placed the other plate on her lap. The sofa dipped with his weight as Amelia took two of the biscuits and offered him one, absentmindedly making sure it was his favourite. Neither of the two were aware that they were being watched by the keen eyes of Alice, who seemed amused at their exchange. 

Amelia took a bite out of her biscuit while Arthur twiddled thumbs, none of them really knowing how to break the cringeworthy silence. Alice, with amazing people skills, cut the atmosphere with her voice like a knife,

"Have you been well, son? I'm sorry I couldn't come to see you sooner. The cafe was incredibly busy this Summer," She said, and she truly meant it. 

"Yes, I've been alright, I suppose. Just the usual, work and home and the sorts." He responded, "and don't be sorry, mum, I know how manic Spain is in the Summer," 

"Still, I'm sorry. Did you get the money I sent you for your birthday?"

"Yes, I did. Thank you, I used it to pay rent." He said, leaning over to take another biscuit from Amelia's lap. She eyed his hand, feeling very out of place. Antonio who had remained quiet until now, frowned deeply at his stepson,

"Arthur, I don't know why you don't let me help you. I have more than enough to help you out even a little bit." 

Arthur shook his head "Thanks, Antonio, but I cannot take your money-" 

"Oh come on, my love, you know how reluctant he is to accept help. He's always been the same," The older woman said jokingly. Amelia glanced at Arthur and got the strong impression her housemate hadn't taken it that way at all. He hummed, unimpressed by the comment, and took a bite of his biscuit.

"Besides, things aren't as tight as they used to be. Amelia helps out a lot, and I'm eternally grateful for that," He said, smiling at her. She chuckled,

"Ah, it's really nothing. I'm more than happy to help you out after everything you've done for me," 

And Amelia was scrutinised again, "Yes, I heard from Sakura that you had taken on a housemate, but I hadn't expected her to be a girl. A pretty one at that." Arthur's mum mused. Arthur cocked his head and reached down to grab his drink. Amelia didn't really get the chance to let the compliment go to head. A beat of silence then,

"Are you two dating?" Antonio asked. It was as innocent a question as it was inevitable. Arthur choked on his tea and Amelia inhaled the crumbs of her biscuit. 

"What? No!" Amelia said, clutching her chest.

"No, no, it's as innocent as innocent can be!" Arthur cried around gulps of air, horrified.

Alice hummed and sipped at her own drink, "How did you two meet?" 

The scrutinised pair turned to each other, expression mimicking a pair of deers caught in headlights, looking within each other to find an adequate way to explain their situation. They both spoke at the same time, assuming they were on the same page,

"She was in a pickle,"

"I raided his fridge," 

Alice's eyes twinkled with mirth as they glanced at each other with expressions more worried than before. Amelia decided it was best to sit this one out and let Arthur do the explaining,

"Uh, she didn't have anywhere to go, so she came to my house one night and asked for some food. She was really ill so I kind of looked out for her for a bit, then as a thank you she offered to help me pay rent," the Brit fumbled around his words, trying to leave out some of the more hairraising details. Amelia nodded, all too eagerly, cringing at their half-truthfulness. If Alice was anything like her own mother, she would see straight through their little story. The parent seemed satisfied with their answer for now, however, and decided to throw a sad smile Amelia's way,

"I don't know your circumstances, but I'm sorry you found yourself in that position. The world can indeed be cruel, my darling. I have seen it on many occasions," She empathised, and Amelia knew that she had indicated the death of her youngest son. The two women seemed to share something in that moment, and the American felt connected to her in a way that was unspeakable. A distressed kind of hurt bubbled within her chest, and she knew it was to do with her own mother. Amelia looked away sadly, and felt Arthur's hand reach for hers. The squeeze she offered in return gave comfort to both of them.

The subject was quickly changed,

"How is your new job, Arthur?" Antonio mused, and Amelia turned to Arthur quickly,

"New job? I didn't know about this," She questioned, and Arthur pursed his lips at Antonio for mentioning it, then at his mum for telling him about it. He had mentioned it to her in a message briefly, not going into details due to its secretive nature. He hadn't told Amelia for her own safety, but now she was staring up at him expectantly with those gorgeous baby blues, it was taking all of his effort not to crack.

"Yes, it's going well. Harder than before, but it's certainly offered a new perspective on the force, that's for sure." 

"What's your role now?" He asked,

"I'm not entirely at liberty to discuss it, but for context I will say it involves work with the secret service. I hope you can understand my reasoning," He muttered, and Amelia's lips twitched,

"You're a spy now? Like James Bond?" She enquired, and Arthur shook his head,

"No, I work _with_ spies. I'm not _a_ spy,"

Alice glanced down at her drink, hiding what appeared to be conflicting emotions in the reflection of the milky beverage.

"Arthur, is it dangerous?" She asked sharply, but the man seemed unaffected by the question,

"Being an officer is dangerous anyway, mum-" He began,

"You know what I mean," 

Arthur looked into his tea for a few seconds. There was no point hiding it from his parents and Amelia. They had to know the implications of his work for the UK government's attempt at dissolving a massive underground crime syndicate which had spread unchecked, like a virus, through the country so many great people called home, even if he wasn't sure how they were going to combat it in the first place. There were talks of raids on supposed civilian houses, his superiors had said, but truthfully, Arthur and his small team of Mathias, Gilbert and a few others at the station lacked more information than they were comfortable with. The young man was not simply terrified for his life, but also for what he may find in those busted rooms of an old house; drugs, abuse and.. young girls, just like Amelia, and even Sakura, tied and bound… He should offer clarity to his loved ones in the very least. 

He eventually sighed, "Yes, mum, considerably more than before. I was informed of a risk to my life before I even took it on,"

He heard a sharp intake of breath from Amelia, but he couldn't look at her. The room was wrapped once again in an uncomfortable silence. _I'm doing it for girls like you, Amelia_ , his mind had supplied as he starred, fixed on the American's features. 

"Then why did you take it, you fool?" Antonio fumed through gritted teeth,

"Because the job hit too close to home-" 

" _Eres un idiota_! Don't you think your poor mother has suffered enough?!" The Spanish man, now enraged, exclaimed jumping from his seat. Arthur bristled, but knew better than to argue with the Spaniard. He sat patiently while his mother composed her husband,

"Please, dear, sit down, this is very unbecoming in someone else's house." Alice soothed, and Antonio begrudgingly sat, but remained fixed on Arthur with an infuriated stare. His mother spoke up,

"Arthur, you have always been headstrong and independent. Out of you and Alfred, it was you I worried for the least. I trust you, and your capabilities as an officer, but please, my love… Please, just… just be careful. I've already lost one son, I can't lose you too." Alice said, steely. Arthur met her gaze, nodded, then got up. He glanced down at Amelia, whose hands were clenched in her lap. He sighed, and decided to lift the tone, 

"Drinks?"

\--

With Arthur having left the room, it left Amelia open to chat with Alice and Antonio. They started with small talk, chatting about the weather, until they entered into a deep conversation about the world and the things going on in it. To Amelia's surprise, she learnt that Arthur's mother had been a midwife until her early fifties, when she had decided to retire to Spain. Arthur and Alfred had left home, and with an empty nest and no commitments, she moved to the sunny town of Salamanca, where she recounted meeting Antonio. 

"It was like those movies when we met," She recalled with a smile, reaching for her husband's hand, "you know the ones, in those American movies, where the foreign girl locks eyes with the local, he sweeps her off her feet and they dance the night away. Although we were considerably older," 

" _Si, mi Amor_ . You are so beautiful, how could I have resisted?" Antonio hummed, kissing the back of her hand. Amelia looked on fondly; Arthur had been right, they were _disgustingly_ in love, but Amelia found great comfort in the couple. 

"I'm very happy for you. Arthur told me that his dad wasn't a good man, so it's really awesome that you found someone who is as cool as you are," She enthused, and Alice smiled at the girl's compliment, 

"Well, well, it's been a long time since I've been called such by a young person. Arthur's father was a man with many problems," The older woman paused, "He had a lot of, ah… monetary issues and had worked up a sizable debt through gambling. He took it out on us a lot of the time, especially when drink was involved. He was a very conflicted man, but we can only show empathy to those kinds of people, as I have learnt." 

Amelia was slightly bothered by her words, internalising the words and pinning them to her own situation. Maybe that is what she lacked; she had shown no patience towards her father's grief, focusing on her own hurt as opposed to that of her remaining family's. She had been so caught up in the fact that she had lost her mother, that she forgot to comfort her own father's loss of his partner of 20 years. _Empathy_ , the word tickled her memories of those times and conjured up the memories of the rounded marble of her mother's gravestone. She wanted to cry, like she had countless times, but settled on a watery smile,

"I think you're right, ma'am," She replied. If Alice knew something was going on, she didn't mention it.

"Do you have a partner, Amelia?" Antonio asked as Arthur rendered the room. He handed out drinks as Amelia laughed at Antonio's question,

"Don't be silly! I doubt anyone looks at me and thinks 'wow, she's super pretty and she's got her life together, I'm gonna date her!'" She chuckled, oblivious to the offense Arthur had taken to her statement.

"You shouldn't put yourself down like that," He replied firmly, unaware again of his parents' eyes on him. 

"But it's true, I'm not exactly dating material," She reasoned, accepting the mug from his hands. Arthur's frown deepened,

"None of that is true. Not at all-" He was about to continue, when he noticed that he was being regarded by his housemate and respective guests. 

"Dude, why are you getting so defensive?" She asked genuinely, 

"Because I-" He paused. He what, exactly? He could have sworn he heard his mum snicker. "I dont like to hear you putting yourself down, that's all," 

Amelia shrugged, and drank her coffee. She opted to stay quiet for a bit, listening to the family chat between themselves. Antonio and Arthur discussed football, and Alice discussed the cafe's new menu. Amelia was happy to just listen, and felt very pleasantly at home. It had been awhile since she had watched a family interact. She felt a hole in her chest when she realised why this felt so good to her.

Amelia began, for the first time in many months, to miss her dad and her brother. She was homesick, and the feeling came over her in tsunami-sized waves starting from the centre of her chest. Her fingers tingled, her stomach felt hollow, and her heart ached deeply. She wiped her sweaty hands on her trousers, gripping the fabric. She wished it was Mattie's shirt, as it had been when the played tag in their back garden. She ran her fingers through her hair, wishing it was her father's when she had decided to put make up on him. He had never minded, forever a patient man. Amelia began to breathe rapidly, and took it as an indication to take a break from her forlorn gazes at Arthur's amazing parents. She excused herself, but only made it to the stairs before Arthur's fingers closed around her wrist,

"Is everything alright, love?" He enquired, and Amelia dared not to turn around and face him. 

"I'm okay, I think. I'm thinking about my family." She said, and Arthur let go. 

"Do you need anything?"

She shook her head, "Just a break. I'll be back down soon," 

  
  


\--

The housemates and their guests chatted for the remainder of the afternoon, with Alice and Antonio making a move to leave at half past four. Amelia and Arthur had agreed to show them out, loitering in the hallway as they gathered their coats and shoes. Antonio opened the door, letting heat slip out of the house and the cold enter in its place. Amelia clutched her arms as she waved goodbye. When she reached the door, Arthur's mum turned to face her son at the threshold. The evening sky stretched out across the street, hues of yellow and purple playing across the sky. 

"Arthur, will you come this year?" She asked hopefully, and Arthur shook his head,

"No, I won't," He responded. Amelia glanced between them confused.

"Why not? Sakura and I would love it if you could come, and Alfred would have loved it too," She urged, but Arthur stood firm,

"You ask me every year, and my answer is the same. I'm sorry, but it's just something I cannot bring myself to do." He said firmly, and Alice sighed dejectedly. She reached over to grab his hands, and smiled,

"Same time, same place. If you change your mind." 

"I won't, but thank you." He said, and leaned down to kiss his mum on the cheek,

"Take care, mum. Enjoy your few weeks in this miserable country," He laughed, and she rolled her eyes

"There's no place I'd rather be, to be honest. I'll drop by again soon," She turned to Amelia, and patted her forearm. She pulled the girl in and dropped a kiss on her cheek,

"Take care, my darling. It was lovely to meet you," 

"Likewise, ma'am. Take care," 

They each raised a hand as the couple departed, and Arthur watched them pull off before closing the portal. The cold 

The house was quieter than it had been for the past few hours, and Amelia remarked to her friend that it felt empty. He nodded and headed for the kitchen, with Amelia following in tow. The girl supposed that the decorating had been abandoned for the time being, but she had a more pressing question that needed answering,

"What was your mum talking about a second ago?" She asked, wringing her hands in front of her,

"What? Oh, that," Arthur began, scratching the back of his neck, "It's a thing mum and Sakura do for Al every year. They go to his favourite restaurant on the day of his passing." 

Amelia frowned, "Why won't you go with them?" 

A pause, "I-I just… prefer to remember my brother in my own way."

"Is that why she came by today? Is it Alfred's anniversary soon? This close to Christmas? You shoulda told me..." She murmured forlornly, and Arthur tapped the kitchen table, looking very frustrated. 

"It's in a few weeks time. And it's the back end of November, I'd hardly count that as Christmas-" 

"Artie," She tried to sooth against his rising annoyance. He rubbed his face,

"Don't call me that,"

"Okay, I'm sorry, but maybe you should go? I mean, get outta your shell and talk to the people who understand your pain? Isn't that what you've done for me?" She reasoned, but it was a bit too late. He seemed to be shutting himself off. 

"You sound just like them. Just drop it, my answer was no," He ground out. Amelia swung her arms by her sides. His following silence wasn't satisfying, and she watched him as he turned to the kitchen counter and pulled open one of the cupboards. She had the strong inkling that the situation should be dropped, especially since Arthur had turned his back to her and gave off some not-so-subtle 'don't talk to me' vibes, but the girl was nothing if not persistent. Amelia tapped her lip thoughtfully, and then closed in the distance between them. She wound her arms around his waist almost timidly, pressing her chest to his back and burying her face into the fabric of his jumper. It smelt cotton fresh, as if she was surrounded by crisp and newly-laundered linen, with a hint of pine from his deodorant. His aroma was akin to a forest in Spring, and it reminded her of the times spent in the Great Lakes of Michigan as a child, surrounded by family and Smores and roaring fires and children's laughter. Arthur smelt like _home._ She felt his abdomen rise with a sharp intake of breath as he paused with the cupboard door open,

"What are you doing?" He asked, and she shrugged,

"Giving you a hug, you always look like you need one when Alfred's involved." She spoke, words muffled by his jumper. He sighed, and leant against the marble counter with both hands. He neither moved, nor pushed her away. She felt his breathing grow uneasy and his shoulders shake. She quickly realised he was crying, but made no mention of it; Arthur rarely showed any signs of vulnerability, unlike herself. He was not as expressive with hard emotions as she was. She knew the importance of dignity to him, and wanted to reason that crying didn't make him seem weak in her eyes, rather the opposite. She said nothing, however, content with the fact that this was somehow therapeutic to him. She closed her eyes and squeezed him hard, hoping her want of respecting him would be adequately conveyed. When she considered it, She realised that she was closer to Arthur than she had been to someone in her whole life, with the evening sunlight casting shadows across their bodies. Where the man she was holding, now broken, had been so strong and kind as he had cared for her. His heart was breaking, a pain she knew all too well, and all she wanted to do was fix it. _Empathy_ , Alice said in her mind, and Amelia decided she had learnt a lot. 

"Go, Arthur. Please," She whispered between his quiet sobs, "You can't hold all this pain on your own. Take your own advice and be around people who won't judge you if you cry, because seriously? They love you," 

"You're not judging me, either," He said, wiping his nose with his thumb. That same feeling she had felt a few times bubbled up from her chest. It was kind and tender, as warm as Arthur's body. She knew what it meant now. She liked Arthur, and not as a friend. Her cheeks heated and her stomach fluttered and she buried her face further into his jumper. This was dangerous territory, hazardous waters, but Amelia did not expect her feelings to be reciprocated at all. After all, she barely had her life sorted out as it was.

\--

Amelia had woken early to the sound of her alarm. If she hadn't desperately needed to go into town to run errands, she would have switched it off, flung it somewhere and gone back to sleep. The dark morning and thus lack of sunlight hadn't helped to convince her sleep-logged brain that it was time to get up either. All she could think of was the freezing temperatures outside, the bulk of her winter coat, itchy jumper and Amelia pulled the covers over her head. But Christmas was looming, whether she liked it or not, and Amelia loved nothing of winter save for festivities. Arthur didn't appear to be a fan of Christmas, or hadn't been so in a long time, but Amelia just couldn't understand why he decided to shop at the last minute. Christmas was fun, full of presents and food and kindness, and those things took time to do right. Perhaps it was a British thing. Or a man thing. She had thrown the covers back over her torso and sat up like dead weight, observing absentmindedly her completed bedroom before deciding to get up. With hair brushed, teeth clean and warm clothes on, she traipsed down the stairs and wandered into the kitchen to maybe make herself some breakfast. She checked the clock on the wall, knowing that Arthur would be home soon and contemplated making breakfast for two. She recalled how jittery he had been the night before, snapping and snarling at most things and being very defensive. She had never seen him do it before, but when she watched the way his leg had bounced up and down like a timer on a bomb as he drank his tea before work last night, she had to ask what was up. He said nothing. She wondered if he would be different this morning, but she knew today was Alfred's anniversary. Knowing the pain that those days bought, she wanted to be extra careful with the man's feelings. She hummed the tune of her alarm resentfully, and set about making something to eat. The front door opened and shut forcefully, and she heard Arthur swearing in the hallway, followed by the thunk of a shoe hitting the floor. Amelia looked in his direction, and then at the clock. He was home early.

Arthur felt a bit of momentary triumph as he kicked a shoe to the floor. He hadn't needed to reach down to untie it, although he had tried to and ended up losing his balance when his ribs complained. The issue now was the other shoe, he'd have to get down and pull at the laces. He was trying to be as quiet as he could so as not to wake up Amelia, who was no doubt still asleep. To say he'd had a bad shift was an understatement; he had arrived at the station the night before, already in a bad mood and feeling guilty for snapping at Amelia all day, only to be ushered into a meeting room by Elizabeta. His team, a few people from MI6 and the sergeant were waiting for him there. They had been following leads all week with regards to a seemingly innocent house in Central London, of which new reports of illegal drug trafficking had emerged. Arthur had listened to the report, made by a neighbour claiming that Class A drugs were being grown in the loft space, and had then asked the sergeant how they would proceed. Waterford had told them to put on their riot gear, because MI6 was going to lead them in a raid. Arthur had attempted to change their decision, he really was not in the mood, into gathering move evidence and raiding next week. 

"It's best to strike while the iron is hot," Waterford had said, so Arthur had conceded and made a move to don his protective gear. The team had felt his apprehension, and Mathias had saddled up to him in the van,

"You okay, mate?" He asked, and Arthur sighed, 

"Not particularly, I think this is a bad idea." He hummed, going over the paperwork. 

"It's not just the raid though, is it? It's Alfred's anniversary today," 

Arthur hadn't bothered with a reply. Needless to say, the raid went poorly; the drugs were seized, and the men in conjunction with the illegal products were arrested, but they had fought the good fight before incarceration. One had pinned Arthur to the floor after a blow to the head, and punched his way through his gear. Gilbert had yanked the guys off and wrestled him to the floor, clapping handcuffs on his wrist. It was too late though, Arthur's ribs were bruised and his face was in a mess. Even the medic back at the station had commented on the state of him. He lugged himself home, even more pissed off than he had been the night prior. He just wanted to sleep, and not be plagued with nightmares of his little brother's dead body.

"Arthur?" Came a soft American voice from the kitchen. He turned his head to face her, then back quickly, realising that it was best that she didn't see him in this state. He heard footsteps approaching rapidly, and felt her warm hands over his uniform. He closed his eyes, cursing himself for making her worried. She was awake, of course she was, but she was definitely a sight for sore eyes. After a night full of darkness and pain, she was the first rays of dawn. Blonde hair, blue eyes, beautiful face, accent like a songbird… maybe he was delirious, but Arthur felt hopeful.

"Arthur, what the hell happened?!" She cried, leaning down to undo the laces of his remaining boot and slide the muddy item off his feet. He stood up straight with great effort and a groan,

"Raid in Central. Got tackled. Guy broke my vest, Gil wrenched him off me." He ground out, as if even breathing seemed difficult. Amelia stood up quickly and took his face in her hands, running her fingers against his cheek. She appeared mortified at the swelling and purple bruises, and it made him feel uncomfortable. 

"God damn it, are you okay?" She said, brushing his hair away from his forehead to see a large cut in his hairline and another over his eyebrow. She looked like she wanted to bawl,

"Oh come on, you're clever enough to know I'm not," He tried a joke and chuckled, before doubling over and coughing violently. Amelia sighed and reached for his hand to gently coax him into the kitchen. He didn't complain, rather reveled in it. He caught a glance and himself in the mirror as they passed it, and he saw why she was so mortified. His left eye was swollen shut and turning a deep shade of purple. The cut on his lip had reopened and was dribbling blood onto his chin. There was a nasty gash above his eyebrow, and Arthur didn't want to look anymore. He shuffled on behind her, letting himself be towed along, too tired and defeated to protest anything else, feeling his freezing cold fingers close around hers. She stood him against the counter, and he rolled his eyes, 

"It's okay, I got cleaned up at the station," He tried as she reached for the first aid kit on top of the fridge. She ignored him and walked over, setting it down on the counter. 

"Your lip is bleeding, and one of your cuts has come open. I'm not letting you go to bed like that." She assured and he sighed exasperatedly, but didn't protest as she tore open an antiseptic wipe. He cringed and hissed when the paper touched his lip, causing Amelia to remove it momentarily. He nodded when the sting lessened and she began again. He watched her intently, eyeing her movements. There must have been no end to her patience, as she carried on living and spending time with him despite his evil attitude over the past few days. He knew she understood, and not just on a surface level. Amelia had so quickly become someone he could trust and confide in, and people like her were few and far between. She was gentle, despite the fact that the sting persisted. He really just wanted to fall asleep there and then, so he opted to close his eyes and lean against the side like a sack of potatoes. All that filled the kitchen was Amelia's gentle breathing as Arthur let himself be taken care of, and he decided that he liked it, this being spoilt thing. He knew Amelia would take care of him whether he fought her or not, had he not been so tired he would have protested hard and insisted he was fine. 

"Is this gonna be a regular thing in your job now?" She asked and he nodded. She sighed, and Arthur only became aware of the proximity when he felt the air flutter against his cheek. He opened his eyes,

"The tables have turned," He remarked, and she chuckled,

"Sure have, I remember when you were doing this for me months ago. Although things are a bit different now." She mused, briefly meeting his eyes with a smile. Things were a _lot_ different, he reckoned as he reached out for her silky blonde hair. He tucked it behind her ear to see more of her face, that beautiful face, when Arthur suddenly realised he had fallen in love with her. He paused, and she raised an eyebrow but carried on. There were no fireworks, no rush of emotion as he had expected. Just a soft feeling in his stomach. He had a feeling it would end up like this, as if it was always meant to be. His heart hadn't cared about her issues and she hadn't payed his any mind either. She didn't complain. He was perhaps fighting a losing cause; there was no way someone so out of his league could return those feelings. He mulled it over, and decided he was perfectly fine with that for the moment. In a strange contradicting way and without much reason, he desperately wanted to reach out and kiss her, just to see how it would feel, but he would never dream of doing that without asking first. It became harder to resist when she swiped a finger over the cut. 

"I'm sorry," He mumbled, barely audible. 

"Huh? Why? You didn't punch yourself in the face," 

"No, for being an absolute tosser to you yesterday. And the day before." 

She shrugged, "It's alright, I get it. It's Alfred's anniversary today," 

"Yes. I just don't know how to deal with it," He admitted, looking up when Amelia moved his hair again. She hummed,

"You need to talk to your mum and Sakura. I wish I had learnt that with my family. So many problems would have been solved if we'd just spoken about it," She said, and Arthur held her wrist to move it down. She looked at him oddly,

"Did I hurt you?" She asked, and he shook his head. He pulled her onto a hug, something that took the girl by surprise. His bruised ribs complained but he didn't care; there was just something about the way she held him last time, while he cried, that made him want to do it again. 

"I'm sort of glad it happened though," He whispered into her hair. 

"Why's that?"

"Because I wouldn't have met you if it didn't," He responded, hoping that the true meaning behind his words would be conveyed. She sighed and reciprocated his touch. It felt so good. 

"Seriously, what am I gonna do with you. You'll be the death of me, Arthur," She said against his neck, and he smiled.

"I'm going to go and see them tonight," He said after a bit. She made a noise of surprise,

"In your state? Maybe sit this one out," She laughed, and they pulled apart,

"No, you're right. I should take my own advice."


	13. Timebomb

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey guys! Happy New Year! Had to put this on pause while I was dealing with some stuff.
> 
> I didn't get where I initially wanted to go in this chapter; I said last time I wanted Christmas and New Year for this one, but I've rejigged the plan to make it a bit more... dark?? If you can say that?? It felt a bit stagnant and it was taking really long to get to where I needed it to go, which is my own fault. We might see some celebrations next chapter.
> 
> Anyway TRIGGER WARNING FOR ROAD TRAFFIC COLLISIONS AND DEATHS FROM THEM. Alfred's death is inspired by something that happened to me irl, so I triggered myself when writing. 
> 
> And I totally forgot that Alice (Artie's mum) and Alice (Amelia's friend) had the exact same spelling. It is so confusing since theyre both in this chapter. Once again, Fem!Italy is Alice (AH-LEE-CHI). 
> 
> I hope you enjoy this one! As always, thanks for lovely comments on the last chapter! You can follow me on Twitter at @ThatYuko - I mainly just post a load of rubbish ✌
> 
> Enjoy!
> 
> -Yuko

The car door slammed shut as Arthur watched his superior stalk towards the wreck currently sprawled across the frozen tarmac. _No, please, not this again._ He swung his leg out of the door, followed by the other, as we walked around to slam shut the car door, mindful of his footing lest he slip. He followed behind his superior, making his way over to the carnage lit by the mid-morning sun. He saw the hi-vis jacket of the paramedic rock with the force of chest compressions as they ducked under the red and white tape placed around lamp posts on either side of the road. A traffic warden stubbed out his cigarette and intercepted their path. Arthur would have remembered his face if he tried to look hard enough, but for some reason it was missing in this rendition.

"Sorry gents," came the sing song tones of a Yorkshire accent, "Carnt allow t'press through," 

Arthur watched as his superior, who seemed to have only a back, flashed something at him and the faceless humanoid creature nodded,

"My apologies, sergeant." 

"He's with me," He heard distortedly through the whirling of the air ambulance. It was the first time he had noticed it. The two proceeded to approach the splintered shards of metal, and Arthur stepped over the broken wheel feeling the sharp edges catch against his boot. _You do this so many times and you still manage to scuff your boot._ He looked down and hissed, seeing the clean line from the alloy where it had ripped the shiny leather. 

"Don't stall Kirkland, we need to find out what's going on,"

"Yes, sir." His voice sounded alien even to his own ears. He made his way over to the open doors of the ambulance,

"Try not to look, kid. I know it's almost a reflex, but trust me this is kind of messy if you've never seen it before," His superior warned, and Arthur nodded. _You'll look anyway, and you'll wish to every god in heaven you never did._ They manoeuvred around the open doors of the ambulance as a second paramedic stumbled out with a tray and a BVM in hand. She spared the officers a smile before scrambling over to her partner. _Don't do it, you absolute fool._ Arthur watched her dip around the door, leaning back to watch her run and observed…

Well, absolute carnage. Debris, the smell of heated rubber and...

_He said don't look! How many times do I have to go through this!_

A leather jacket slung over the shrapnel-like remains of a motorbike, the other tire flung somewhere far. He looked closer, and his breath escaped in a plume of condensation in front him, momentarily obscuring his view. It shifted a swirled away to reveal sandy blonde, blood-splattered hair peeking out from under a smashed helmet, an all too familiar boyish face littered with bleeding cuts and the long lashes of closed eyes clad with plastic shards. His face was obscured by the mask of a medical device, which was being pumped by the hand of a paramedic as the birds sang in the sky and the bag attached crinkled.

_You're such a fucking idiot!_

His cry ripped from his throat, feeling like sandpaper against his larynx as he called out for his brother. Arthur ran, despite his superiors orders and he saw baby blue eyes snap open. He made it over despite the traffic wardens gathering behind him and his superior's screams for him not to interfere. He made it inches from his most adored brother's prone form before someone pulled him back, shouting for somebody to " _get him out of here!"_ as his legs worked on their own. There was a flurry of activity from the paramedics and then time slowed. Arthur watched the current beneath the blue stop as Alfred's head fell to the side. Arthur did too, tears he hadn't realised he had been crying stinging the cold of his face. Someone dragged him to his feet as he stumbled to try and regain feeling in his legs. He screamed nonsense sentences and kicked out, crying for the paramedics not to give up.

_There's nothing you can hide from in your deepest dreams..._

He convulsed, gasping, and a hand was in his hair, shifting the strands around. He frowned.

\--

Arthur's eyes fluttered open at lighting speed, grabbing forcefully the hand in his hair. The small wrist tensed beneath the force,

"Easy, it's just me," A female voice sounded, barely above a whisper. He gathered his malfunctioning senses and lessened the grip on the limb in his hands, but didn't let go. As his vision cleared he came face to face with baby blues and his heart lurched, stalling his brain's effort of gathering more information. He blinked once, twice, until he registered Amelia's angelic face, back lit by the lamp. She was lying next to him, red jumper and embroidered jeans, her other hand under her cheek. Her fingers were cold, her cheeks were rosy and she gave him a cautious smile, searching his face. He took a deep breath and released her, realising he was in his room, at home. Safe. He ran his hands over his face, noting the sting against his lip and bruised eye.

"You okay?" She asked timidly and he sighed into his hands,

"I'm sorry, I shouldn't have grabbed you," He murmured, and he felt her shake her head,

"Don't be, it was a reflex," She responded, reaching up to begin to card her fingers through the knots in his messy hair again. He lavished in it a bit, trying to calm his racing heart and diminish the adrenaline in his blood. She didn't stop, and he was grateful for the comfort,

"Why are you here?" He asked, she considered him guiltily,

"I came to wake you up like you asked, but I heard you struggling and I thought something was wrong. You were having a bad dream, I figured it was about today, and I didn't like seeing you suffer so I had to do something," She admitted, and Arthur sighed, rolling over onto his back. Her hand fell out of his hair as he regarded the ceiling. Amelia stayed with him for a bit, not reaching out, not asking questions (although he had a feeling she already knew). He turned to her,

"Thank you for that. You didn't have to come in," He said, and she shrugged, propping herself up on her elbow. 

"S'fine. My mum used to stroke my head when I was having a bad dream. Figured it would make you feel better," She responded,

"What time is it?" 

"Around three-thirty?" 

"You can't answer a question with a question," He joked, eager to break the mood. It was too tender. She must have been right, as the last vestiges of daylight shot orange hues through his white curtains. He watched jest replace concern in Amelia's eyes,

"Sorry, phone's downstairs and my circadian rhythm is pretty poor…" 

"Shocking," He corrected, and then pointed to his eye, "How's my ugly mug looking?"

She wrinkled her nose, "Pretty bad, dude. But you're still handsome, don't worry," 

He rolled his eyes and smacked her arm,

"I ain't kidding!" She cried,

"Of course you're not," Sarcasm, then, "Come on, we've got to get moving," 

They made a move to get ready.

\--

"Your mom is gonna freak. Are you sure this is a good idea?" Amelia asked, leaning against the door frame of Arthur's bedroom with arms folded, the fabric of her coat rustling with the movement. She reached up and readjusted the red beenie she had bought earlier in the day on her Christmas shopping trip. Arthur couldn't help but notice just how good she looked in red, but it wasn't really the time for that. Since he had acknowledged his feelings for her that morning, although weary and through the haze of exhaustion, the softness he felt for his housemate hadn't dissipated. He needed more time to sort that particular situation out, but today was for Alfred. Amelia had originally been apprehensive about leaving Arthur while she had gone out, but he had gently reassured her that he was going to sleep and would seldom do much else. Arthur sighed, removing the frozen peas from his left eye and checking out the swelling. It had lessened considerably since the morning but the swelling had been replaced by a deep purple bruise. Still, he supposed he looked more alive than he had done. He sighed at his appearance, hanging his head. _What am I doing, running around after criminals?_ Amelia approached, her heels creating a dull sound on the laminate flooring. She rest a hand on his shoulder and he looked up,

"I can put makeup on it if you like? I might rub off and look a bit strange, but you should be okay if I blend it really well and you don't rub it," She offered, and he considered accepting the offer for second but eventually shook his head,

"Thank you, but mum has a seventh sense when it comes to injuries. She'll know either way," He said, and she nodded. 

A few minutes later, they had locked up left to catch the train, a biting wind nipping at their cheeks and the sun setting lower in the sky. They tapped their oyster cards, making their way through the rickety turnstiles and across the old bridge to the platform where they stood in amicable silence for a bit, until the started making a few odd comments about the cold. Arthur had discovered that Amelia was more of a Summer child, preferring the warmth of the sun and the smell of flowers over cold rain and dark evenings. Arthur, on the other hand, hated all kinds of weather. Summer was too hot, Winter was too cold, and all it ever did was rain. It had started akin to small talk, but Arthur already knew he could discuss a wide range of topics with the blonde; she appeared to know a little bit about everything and had this incredible way of turning even the most mundane of topics into a conversation.

"If you hate extreme weather then you wouldn't vibe well in Michigan, my guy!" She enthused as the pair boarded the train. It was rare she talked about the state so Arthur jumped at the chance to find out more,

"Why's that?" He asked, and she sat back in the dusty seat. The artificially-lit train was crowded with rush hour commuters, but Arthur had managed to snag her a seat like the gentleman he was, and stood a few inches from her. She had protested, bickering that he was the one injured, but he had insisted. 

"It's deliciously hot in the Sumner, like 32°c for you Brits, and in the Winter it _snows_ . Like, _real snow_ , not the flurries you get up north here. It goes inches and inches deep," She enthused, and laughed when Arthur wrinkled his nose,

"32? No thank you, that's almost body temperature. And a big 'no' to snow, that's the worst of all weathers. Trains pack up, cars don't run, and everything shuts down," He grumbled, enjoying her reaction,

"Precisely! Although you guys totally overreact for the snow you actually get. I remember being 11 and helping Mattie and papa shovel the snow off the driveway. Papa had to stop because I was throwing snowballs at him. He picked me up and threw me in the pile he'd just shoveled, mom was furious! She had to dry my uniform with a hair dryer and she even cursed my dad out in French, which was a first, " She recounted, and he noted the dreamy happiness that her eyes betrayed. She was talking about her family fondly, it was a big improvement. 

"I thought you didn't wear uniforms in America," He offered, and she shook her head,

"We don't at public school, but I went to private school for a while. I went to a public high school for a year before coming here," She responded, and he tilted his head. She stopped for a minute, poking the inside of her cheek with her tongue. He was slightly taken aback by her change in mood. He cocked his head to try and catch her eye, and she looked up.

"I wanna go see them in January." She said with steely determination. He nodded,

"That's really great, Amelia. I'll come with you, of course." 

"You don't have to, I'll be okay on my own-" 

"Absolutely not. I'll go with you, it's a tough thing to do alone. Besides, you're escorting me to Alfred's reunion, so it's only fair," 

"I'm not really escorting you, we're going the same way. I'm going out to eat too-" She paused, "Well, _I'm_ going for food. Alice and Chiara are going to get drunk," She finished with a flourish, and Arthur laughed at that despite his complaining ribs. 

"I see. Still, you're going back on yourself. Accompanying me to South Hampstead, to the restaurant then back to Kilburn isn't exactly 'going the same way'. It's a bit of a trek," He mused,

"It's the least I could do. Besides, I don't want you getting more bruises. It would break your mum's heart," And she smiled. It was the best thing Arthur had seen all day. 

\--

The doors were right there, all he had to do was walk through them. Arthur chose to, however, stall and fumble about on the outside instead. It took Amelia a few minutes of consoling to convince him to make a move until she clocked Sakura and Alice chatting with one another over a glass of wine near the sweeping, wide glass window. They had dressed up; Sakura looked rather dainty and doll-like in her pale blue dress, blue heels, face dusted lightly with makeup, hair curled at her shoulders and pinned off her face with a sparkly slide. Amelia understood why Alfred had been in love with her, she was very pretty with a beautiful personality to match, not to mention the endless patience she exuded. Alice looked every bit the sophisticated mature woman she was, with dark lipstick, hair pinned up gracefully, and a purple blouse tucked into a slate grey pencil skirt. They were lit by the overhead fake chandelier as they chatted about something the pair obviously couldn't hear. Amelia grinned and glanced back to Arthur, who stood looking every bit as smart as they did in his grey slacks, white shirt and grey dinner jacket. Having him dressed well in front of her wasn't helping her manage her feelings at all. It was her own fault, she had encouraged this. She waved animatedly when Sakura met eyes with her, who waved back timidly confused, and pointed with two hands and a ridiculous grin at Arthur who had his back to them. She watched the Japanese woman as her eyes widened and she tapped Arthur's mother on the arm. 

"What are you doing now, with that ridiculous grin on your face?" He asked suspiciously. Amelia looked behind him and moved her finger in a circular motion for him to turn around. The two women had left their seats and rushed out into the cold evening air to greet him, totally stunned at his appearance. He turned to them, and they both gasped in shock and horror at his face, Sakura covering her mouth. 

"I don't know what to be more surprised about, you or your face!" Alice cried, running to him and throwing her arms around him. He was momentarily winded, and Amelia winced. That wasn't going to do the bruises on his abdomen any good.

"I-it's not just my face. Hi mum, hi Sakura," He sighed, returning the hug from his mum and waving a hand at Sakura. She shook her head and approached him,

"Hello, Arthur-san. What happened?" She asked as his mother began to examine it,

"Criminals don't appreciate it when you raid their houses," He muttered, which seemed to stop them from panicking too much. Instead, Alice glared at him but said nothing. Sakura turned to Amelia and smiled widely, something the other girl hadn't really ever seen. 

"How did you do it?" She asked, and Arthur made a bark of disbelief,

"Oi, you! I came here of my own accord!" He fumed, and Sakura nodded her head at him.

"Of course you did, Arthur-san, but after how much coaxing?" She responded, winking at her friend. Amelia beamed and suppressed a laugh,

"Why I ought to-"

"Come in out of the cold you two! Order whatever you want, my treat," Alice enthused, glad her son had decided to come. She ushered him inside with a coax of his broad shoulder and made a gesture for the American to follow them. The blonde stepped back and held up a hand,

"I'm super grateful for the offer, ma'am, but I wouldn't like to impose. I actually have an arrangement of my own to attend to," She said honestly and the two women looked a bit disappointed. 

"She's meeting friends, mum," Arthur elaborated, and the pair sighed,

"You'll come next time, yes?" Sakura asked hopefully, and Amelia shuffled on the pavement. It was an incredibly kind offer. She knew how much these meetings met to the small family, but a sour sense of impostor syndrome creeped up on her,

"It's kinda a family thing," She mumbled, and Alice walked over. She pecked the girl on the cheek,

"You're welcome any time, my petal. Please take care when meeting your friends," She said. Amelia waved as they disappeared into the restaurant. She retreated back through the darkened streets to the station with a spring in her step, happy for Arthur's return to the people who loved him the most and through the rumble of the carriage to Kilburn, she had a feeling that she was almost qualified to join that group. She panicked at the thought and pulled out her mental red tape. The danger zone was fast approaching. 

\--

It was nine minutes past ten, and Amelia was full up from all of the delicious food that had been served. Her friends hadn't eaten as much as she had but Amelia had a very apparent love affair with burgers. Once food service had ended, the restaurant had begun to play music softly and the bar had started to serve much more than just wine and beer. Chiara and Alice had bought cocktails consisting of a multitude of colours to the table. They each took one and pushed the last one towards Amelia. She shook her head,

"I don't drink," She informed them, and the pair had shrugged and split the drink between them. They had already had a bottle of wine with their meals, but it hadn't stopped with the cocktails. The girls drank until they were tipsy. Amelia thought it was fun, watching them giggling and holding onto each other, singing at the top of their lungs when a song they knew came over the speakers. Then the twins had decided to play _the game_.

"What's that?" Amelia asked innocently,

"Oh, _piccolina_ , you innocent baby," Chiara had gushed, pinching Amelia's cheeks. The American swatted her away as Alice explained,

"They call it 'The Pull' in the UK, although we're not going that far. You chat up guys," 

"Ah. Thanks, but I'm not really interested," She said, "I think I might have someone I like,"

"Excuse me, why haven't we heard about this before?" Chiara asked, her 4th glass of wine balancing vicariously on the edge of the table as she leaned over. Just as Amelia had been about to mention it, someone coughed to their right and Amelia looked up. 

A man about their age with brown hair sweeping across his forehead and wearing leather was perched at the end of the table. He was looking intensely at Amelia, and it made her squirm in her seat. He seemed innocent enough, but Amelia had a bad feeling. She couldn't really describe it, but there was something about him that made her very uncomfortable. It wasn't as if she had no experience with male attention, although that was true; this wasn't about that, for the random guy seemed to ooze ulterior motives or something sinister.

"Sorry to crash your party, but my mates just left me on my own. My name is Jake. If I buy you beautiful ladies a drink, can I sit with you?" He asked with the smile of a saint. Or sinner, Amelia reasoned. She took a second to chastise herself for being judgemental. She glanced at her friends, ready to turn him down, but the twins had fixed him with an impressed look and invited him anyway. He returned with four drinks, and Amelia pushed hers away as he squeezed into the booth beside her. She shuffled to accommodate him, but he sat as close to her as possible. The three gave a toast and gulped a good way through their drinks. The sisters lavished Jake with attention, but Amelia didn't participate. She tried not to be rude, she really did, but she just didn't like him. He tried to get her involved, asking rather invasive personal questions about where she lived and where she worked. She answered each one as vaguely as possible, unlike her companions who had no issues with disclosing their life stories with the man. She had offered him an uncomfortable smile whenever he glanced in her direction. Jake stayed for what felt like ages, and had tried to slip his hand onto Amelia's knee, receiving a harsh slap to the offending limb. He glared at her, and then Amelia got her wish. He left her alone, opting to get his kick from the twins instead. The drinks kept coming.

\--

Amelia made her way back to the station with two _very_ drunk Italians either side of her. It had been a nice evening, despite the whole Jake thing and the fact that she had spent most of it laughing at her two inebriated friends' ridiculous antics. The twins looked a lot less put together than they had at the begging of the night. Dressed to the nines in their breathtakingly short skirts and lofty heels, immaculate hair and makeup, chatting up any man at the bar after Jake had left with a huge success rate, commenting and fluttering eyelashes at anyone of the opposite sex who dared pass by their table like two black widows luring prey into their web. Amelia had found it highly amusing, but hadn't really involved herself in their affairs for there was really only one person on her mind. Chiara had seemed to get along very well with Jake in the end. She had spent quite a bit of time with him that night. Amelia didn't mind, but there was something about the guy that irked her. She hadn't been fond of the way he leered at her friend, as if Chiara was his property, and while the American knew her friend could take care of herself, she was more than ready to step in if he had taken advantage of her. He had left abruptly, which had made her very suspicious indeed. He had been so into Chiara to the point where Amelia was sure he would have taken her home, but he left with the same attitude as a customer who had got the item they wanted. She glanced around the almost empty streets out of paranoia, but nothing looked untoward in the slightest. She chastised herself yet again because maybe she was being too sensitive and unfair. Despite the interruptions, the two sisters laughed, drank, laughed and drank some more. Amelia wasn't a fan of alcohol; the taste wasn't the best, but most of her abstinence can from her father's drinking issues. She had seen how drinking could make people, and she had come to the conclusion that the world would be a safer place with one less drunk person in it. They meandered towards the station, Chiara stopping to take her heels off with a swear word, and switching them for folded flats which had fit like cloth in her bag. Amelia hummed at the genius idea. Chiara fumbled around in her bag for a few more seconds,

"Chiara, you need to hurry up! We'll miss the last train home," Alice slurred, the sleepy drunk,

"Shut up, you ass bastard, I wanna smoke," The darker Italian growled, sticking one of the rolls in her mouth and searching for her lighter. 

"You smoke?" Amelia asked in surprise, 

"Only when I drink," She grounded out, holding her lighter up to the street light and then clicking it to a flame. She lit the cigarette, and rejoined the other girls with a stumble that had Amelia in a fit of laughter,

"Why don't you drink? Prohibition was in the 1920s, _Americana_ , and it's not the 1920s," Chiara stated, but Amelia shook her head, interrupted by Alice,

"And rejoice for that! I cannot imagine a world without _wine_ ! _Buon vino fa buon sangue, si sorella?_ " The other Italian sister enthused, receiving nodding so strong from Chiara that she almost fell over. It was nearing 11 o'clock, and Alice was right, they were going to miss their train if they didn't hurry up. Amelia wasn't worried about herself, she would get the same train as Arthur at half past, but she doubted her friends would get home in one piece in their state. 

"Why don't you guys ring a cab? It'll be quicker," Amelia suggested. The twin turned to her like she had two heads,

"Oh, you sweet Summer child." Chiara slurred. 

"What?"

"I think she has a point, Chiara. We won't make it and it's not safe to hang about until the next one at 4am," Alice mumbled, and her sister scoffed,

"Do you know how expensive London taxis are? I spent my last ten quid on that British guy, Jake, I can't afford to pay fare,"

"Well, you're in luck," Amelia chimed, and fished a ten pound note out of her pocket. She waved it at them, "I don't drink," 

\--

Amelia and Arthur had chatted about their night on the train home, unusually excited to see each other. Amelia recounted Alice and Chiara's incredible way of attracting guys to Arthur with a hearty chuckle. She told him cautiously about the encounter with Jake, and the Brit didn't seem overly impressed.

"Jake who?" He asked, face hard and lips pursed. Amelia shrugged,

"Dunno, didn't get his last name,"

The Brit deflated with a sigh, "You did the right thing. He had no right to put his damn hands on you, I would've given him a firm talking to if I'd have been there." He said after determining she was okay. They changed the topic and he spoke about his own night with his family, it really appeared as if they had such a wonderful time. Arthur seemed in better spirits than he had this morning, regarding Alfred and his injuries. He seemed to discuss memories surrounding his brother with an ease that wasn't present before now. He was telling her more about it on the way home, and her heart had felt so full that it might have burst if she didn't hold onto him. She wound her hand into the crook of his elbow while his hands were in his pockets. He watched her digits, but didn't make an attempt to shrug her off as she pressed herself to his arm for a makeshift hug,

"What's that for?" He asked, looking somewhat pleased at her touch. She smiled,

"Nothing, I'm just really happy," 

He rolled his eyes and pulled his hand out of his pocket, removing hers from his arm and clasping it in his own. She watched as his warm lips connected with the back of her hands for a few seconds, the two making eye contact. His green eyes were warmly lit by the yellow hues of the street lights as he fixed her with a look loaded with something. The shadows shaped his face perfectly, playing about his features and making them look sharp despite the softness of his action. Amelia flushed pink to her neck, feeling a bit giddy as she released a plume of white mist into the cold air in a shuddering sigh. The more she looked into his eyes, the further she fell. He pulled her in, and she was afraid. This was so dangerous, but Amelia couldn't stop it. She didn't want to push him away, despite the warnings her subconscious mind was giving her. After all, how could a guy as kind and good as him love her, a girl with family issues and nothing of value to him? Amelia had such a fear of being rejected by the first and only person whose opinion truly mattered, it was much safer to be friends. She didn't want to listen to herself anymore. Amelia deafed her fears out, more determined than ever to sort out the issues with her family so she had something to give him. She did something she hadn't done in a very long time: Amelia's heart opened, and she allowed herself to fall. _This is okay._ Oblivious to her internal struggle, Arthur squeezed her hand in his and they remained joined as he put their hands in his pocket, protecting both of their hands from the now-freezing night time air.

"What's that for?" She asked, taken aback by his sudden display. He glanced down at her,

"Nothing, I'm just really happy," He quoted with a coy smile. 

  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Translations:
> 
> Italian  
> Piccolina - little one/term of endearment  
> Buon vino fa buon sangue - Italian proverb "Good wine makes good blood"


	14. Voice

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the wait!! It's basically been a month since chapter 13, and I've had the begining written for a while. Alas, university work must come first :( 
> 
> The holidays are here for our love-sick duo! This is part 1 of the seasonal stuff, I know it's February but Christmas and New Year were unavoidable as a lot of things to do with Amelia's family and her relationship with Arthur happen /because/ of those holidays, as you will see. Sakura remains the voice of reason once again. She's a right good'un, she is. 
> 
> This wasn't meant to be in parts, it was supposed to be one chapter but it was getting too long so *shrugs*
> 
> Come scream at me on Twitter @ThatYuko
> 
> Enjoy!
> 
> Yuko

The ending of November bought glittering lights into December as the expanse of the city geared up for Christmas. The thrilling nip in the air deepened as patrons from all around the country took to public and private transport alike to enjoy the festivities in London's range of Christmas markets and stores. The promise of a sparkling and elegant end to the year was felt by many as yuletide lights were hung between the streets, Christmas trees were assembled in every shop window, bows and ribbons decorated every street lamp, and decorations appeared from the lofts and storage spaces of Londoners across the city. Amelia regarded the rain as she polished cutlery in the warmth of Yao's restaurant, wondering if it might snow, even a little bit, for Christmas. There had been plenty of news reports of snow further north, in the Midlands, Manchester, Newcastle and parts of Scotland, and she felt little envious of the warmer climate of the south. She swiped a knife against the polishing cloth, thinking that if she wished hard enough, the rain would turn into a white flurry by morning. It was a silly thought and she laughed at herself for it. She did prefer Summer over all other seasons, yes, but there was something so magical about  snow . The way it tumbled gracefully from the sky and fluttered in the morning sunlight. The way it crunched deliciously under foot, the way children would leave their rooms to build rudimentary ice structures with their parents and siblings. Even the science of it astounded her. She shuffled, trying to retain a little bit of comfort in her uniform. Half an hour passed as she ruminated about the chilly weather phenomenon, only raising her head to say goodbye to a few colleagues who had left for the night, including the twins who both gave her wide smiles and big waves as they departed. She had been the last one to occupy the eatery when Yao emerged from his office with a stretch, regarding her,

"Amelia, it's 11:15. Go home, I can close up," He sounded, and she looked up,

"Hey, boss. I just wanted to finish the cutlery before heading out. I've got about 10 pieces left, I won't be long," She responded, gesturing to the knives, forks, spoons and glasses she had left. Yao glanced over her head and out of the window, scowling when he saw something. He turned back to Amelia,

"Honestly, you better go, or I might get chewed out again," He murmured, pointing to something outside. She turned confused, before noting a rather cold and miserable looking Arthur loitering around near the doors of the restaurant holding an umbrella above his head. She tried very hard to suppress a smile, but it didn't work as she planned. It erupted across her face like sunshine breaking through clouds and she got to her feet. 

"You sure it's okay? I'll stay later tomorrow," She promised and received a flap of dismissal from Yao,

"Go walk home with your boyfriend,"

"He's not my boyfriend," She stated and her boss rolled his eyes,

" Please.  I'm old enough to know these things," He mused, disappearing behind one of the red imperial partitions of the booths. Amelia lent against the table with her arms folded,

"Again, he's not my boyfriend," She articulated with a wag of her finger,

"Yet!" He called from behind the partition. The American rolled her eyes and stomped off to the staff room,

"I'm going to tell Sakura to burn your garlic again!" She chimed. She heard him curse and apologise as she departed, satisfied with the response.

\--

"I thought you were at work!" She chimed, trying and failing to shrug her coat on due to the bags in her hands. Arthur reached over and took them from her while she faffed around, pushing her arms through the sleeves. He pushed the items to his wrists and extended an arm to zip up her coat,

"No, not tonight. I thought I'd come get you, seeing how unsafe the streets are at the minute." He responded absentmindedly. Arthur was right; there had been more and more disappearances around the city, particularly young girls. She had seen it on the TV after a film one night, and looked on sadly at the news presenter. She had brought it up with Arthur, who had been on the phone with someone important in the kitchen. He gave her a grave face and looked on edge in return, eyeing his phone skittishly; she had a feeling he knew more than he was letting on. She asked him about there and then, but got the same response as usual: "I'm not at liberty to discuss that." To say she was frustrated at the consistent secrecy surrounding his new role was an understatement, but she also understood how illicit it would be if he disclosed anymore information and the last thing she wanted was for him to come to harm.

"Did you have a good shift?" He asked as they shuffled their way to the station. Amelia stood close to make sure she was under the umbrella, feeling them bump shoulders as they walked. She smiled remorsefully,

"Kinda… It's Christmas, so the restaurant it super busy, and while it's great to see so many faces, it gets a bit tiring," She mumbled, and he hummed,

"You've been at work an awful lot lately, I haven't seen hide nor hare of you,"

"I'm sorry," She cringed, tucking a few strands behind her ear, "Yao needs the staff," He nodded with a raise of his eyebrows, and they settled into silence for a bit. The sounds of traffic settled with the rush of incessant rain as tires lapped at the puddles that formed in the odd holes of wet tarmac. Headlights blurred their vision as Amelia reached around to press the button to activate the traffic lights. The beeping sounded, the two crossed the road. The Englishman reached out a hand to aid Amelia's hop over a particularly large puddle that had gathered at the end of the crossing. They continued on, listening as the rain got more uneven while they passed under a series of trees. The weather was unsettled, but it did not reflect Amelia's mood. She enjoyed rainy walks home with Arthur, which had increased in frequency since the news of the missing girls. It made her feel warm inside when she thought about how much he cared about her wellbeing. He didn't have to, yet he did. After a while Arthur said,

"This is going to sound daft, but what would you like for Christmas?" Amelia barked a laugh,

"Nothing, of course!" She looked to him to see a brief flash of hopefulness disappear as he sighed. She realised that he was serious,

"Amelia-" 

"No, no, no. I don't want a single  thing  from you," She began counting on her fingers, "You've given me enough this year. What, a new start, a home, friends who are actually worth the effort  and  contacted my family? No, that is more than enough," She stated firmly. She wouldn't be persuaded here; the blonde was convinced that she wanted nothing more from the man who had already gone above and beyond. He tilted his head in frustration and turned to her, ready to say something, when she stomped her foot. She let out a chorus of 'no's as she escaped the confines of the umbrella and walked a few paces in front,

"Amelia, you're getting wet," He called with urgency in his tone, and she turned around, ready to protest. A rumbling sound approached the pair, too loud to be a car, and a large amount of white light illuminated the grey pavements. It was too far reaching for comfort she thought as the light passed over Arthur's features. He ran forward suddenly, letting the umbrella fall from above his head to protect his shins and ankles. He snagged Amelia by the waist and she let loose a gasp of surprise as he pressed her close to his chest and spun her around, so that their bodies were facing away from the blinding lights of a red double decker bus currently thundering down the road. It was traveling at a speed not considered appropriate for a built up area as it hit a fairly large sized puddle at the side of the road. Amelia heard the water splash against the umbrella with a roar and felt some of it hit the back of her leg. It was cold and muddy as it sunk through her tights, but she wasn't focused on it as much as she was Arthur; his large eyebrows were drawn down over his emerald eyes in a frown, glaring daggers at the driver's seat of the vehicle, his lips set in a livid line. They were so close and she felt her whole body warm up. It was almost overstimulating; his arm around her waist, his breath next to her ear, the smell of pine and rain… She clamped her eyes shut, her senses working overtime. 

The pair had hugged in the past, it was different then. Amelia had decided definitively that she liked Arthur as more than a friend, whatever that meant for now. Since then, and almost overnight, every single touch from Arthur felt like fire to Amelia and she wasn't totally sure she could stop it; a tap on the arm, a brushing of hands, a pat on the back… It was all normal things friends did, but it was so very different now. It was totally juvenile of her to associate any physical feelings of affection with the feeling she had developed, but she couldn't help it. She felt like a love-sick teenager in the movies she had poured over in her middle school years, wondering if loving someone as complicated as they made it out to be. For god sake, she was a grown woman! Well, almost. He turned his head and growled, a rumble Amelia felt against her cheek,

"Tosser!" He fumed loudly at the vehicle, the profanity still didn't break the reverie she had managed to find herself in. She opened her eyes to find him looking down at her, scanning her face with concern,

"You alright?" She wanted to speak, but the words got stuck as she clammed up. She opted to nod quickly, and he cursed under his breath, removing his arm from her. She jumped away from him as if he was a source of electricity and she had just received a shock, which prompted a strange look from the man. If he thought her reaction was strange he didn't say anything, opting to shake out the umbrella, which was now sodden with muddy water. 

"Are you okay?" He paused to nod, inspecting his now-wet shoes and socks, and cursed again.

"Knobhead. Gone are the days where they would go slow through a puddle of that size so as not to slash you," He grumbled and Amelia chuckled, perhaps a bit too maniacally to quell her nervousness. He glanced at her again with a frown, and shook his head. 

Amelia had decided that her feelings towards Arthur were a double edged sword.

\--

Music tinkled around Sakura's immaculate bedroom as they watched the ending credits of a random magical girl anime roll. Sakura clapped her hands with delight, as Amelia slumped back against the bed frame and pressed a pillow to her face.

"Damn, that was intense," 

"Isn't it brilliant?" Her short, dark-haired friend responded. The other girl nodded, and regarded the ceiling as the Japanese woman stood up with a stretch. She readjusted her tracksuit and grabbed the remote from the coffee table,

"Would you like to watch season 2?" She asked and the TV went dark when Amelia shook her head. They had been having anime nights together like this for over a month, and Amelia looked forward to every single one. She would arrive home from work, get changed into her favourite comfy clothes (usually jeans and a hoodie with some British university name scrawled across it - Arthur said the university was in the Midlands, and she was quite taken with the item of clothing as of late) and dive over to Sakura's house next door. She would be greeted by Pochi, her most favourite dog in the world, sometimes a quick hello from Yao, and bust out the snacks and sweets for them to chow down on. She loved to spend time with her friend and neighbour so much, and the feeling was mutual. Some nights she would eat a whole bowl of popcorn while staring intensely at whatever was going on on screen. It had been an anime about a stray god last time, and the tell tale brush of her fingers against the ceramic had indicated there were no snacks left, which added to her unease during the climax. Sometimes Amelia would sleep over too, especially if Arthur was at work, and sometimes Sakura would work overtime and make it home late. Still, they tried however they could to keep it a regular thing. Sakura made a move to leave the room with the promise of a few refreshments. It left the American alone with her thoughts for a bit. She stared at the orange light of the heater at the corner of her friend's bedroom as she began to recall her reason for being here, beside awesome anime. Amelia was totally stumped as to what she should get Arthur for Christmas. Sure, she knew what he liked; he liked to read, loved music, he enjoyed period dramas, and he liked to make things, but getting him something relating to his hobbies didn't seem special enough. He truly had done more than she could ever thank him for, so a typical Christmas present just wouldn't do. She hadn't really bothered bringing the topic up with him either, because she knew he would decline any offer she suggested. She needed insight, and Sakura really was the best person to ask. They had been friends since they were children, she had even been his brother's fiancee. There must be something she could offer to help her out.

The small woman returned with two glasses of juice in hand.

"I kinda wanna talk to you, actually,"

Sakura quirked an eyebrow,

"Oh. What is the matter?" She said, walking away from the door and settling back down next to Amelia. She handed her one of the glasses and Amelia thanked her before continuing,

"I don't know what to get Arthur for Christmas," 

Her friend chuckled and leaned back, black bangs falling against her forehead, "I had a feeling this was coming," 

"I mean, I know what he likes. He likes reading and stuff, but it seems pretty lame to just get him a book considering all the awesome stuff he's done for me," She rambled and Sakura nodded,

"I understand. Have you asked him about it?" 

"No, he'll just say he doesn't want anything," Amelia responded truthfully, and Sakura tapped her chin. She thought silently for a minute.

"Arthur-san is rather sentimental, take that as you will. He does enjoy his hobbies, yes, but he likes to reminisce about old times more than people think," She mused, taking a gulp of water. Amelia considered the information with a thoughtful frown. Between the thrum of the central heating system and Sakura's gentle humming, Amelia conjured up an idea that she liked the sound of,

"Hey, Sakura, can I see that photo album you have?" She asked. The woman shrugged and got to her feet, pacing to the bookshelf in means of retrieving it. She handed it over to her American friend with a stretch, who quickly flipped to a page. She turned the book around, and showed the photograph to her friend. It was the photo of Arthur and Alfred that Sakura had shown her a few months ago, the former looking very handsome in his uniform.

"Can I borrow this?" She asked, and Sakura, normally stoic, flashed her friend a look of genuine surprise,

"Of course, help yourself," Sakura didn't really hesitate, and Amelia considered the trust she had for her to take care of the image. Amelia would never let it come to harm. She loved the picture herself, and as she slid it out from its plastic casing, she looked at Alfred with a smile. She regarded the meticulous Sakura picking lint off the floor, then thought of her friend. The brother of said friend whom she had never met must have been an incredible man to have left such love in everyone's heart. Arthur had mentioned a few times how he believed Alfred and Amelia would've been good friends, and Amelia kind of thought they already were. It was settled, she knew what to do. 

"You know, I thought you were going to ask me about seeing your family," Sakura said quietly, and Amelia paused. Her jaw set tightly, and a frown materialised on her face. She tried to control her displeasure, she really did, because she knew Sakura was right. It was a reflex now, to frown at the mention of her family. It wasn't that she didn't want to patch things up, because she did more than anything, but… Amelia was worried about the reception she would receive from her family if - No,  when \- she returned home. She placed the picture on the bed with a sigh. Sakura clocked on, ever brilliant at detecting the mood,

"Amelia-san, please accept my apologies. I did not mean to be so forward-'' She said profusely. Amelia cut her off before she could bow, feeling guilty for making her friend feel as if she was at fault. No, this was totally on Amelia,

"No, it wasn't you, you didn't upset me. I just don't like the situation is all,"

"I see," The other woman hesitated, "Will you see them before Christmas?" 

Amelia pursed her lips. The thought hadn't occurred to her that she may want to be with them for Christmas, and as a result she had already answered Sakura's question: no. Christmas was a stressful enough time, and she did not want to spend another one thinking about her dead mom, surrounded by mournful glances, copious amounts of alcohol and self pity for the third year running. No, Amelia wanted to forget that and enjoy Christmas as they used to, with smiles and laughter, with yummy food, with silly gifts and good memories. It wouldn't bring her mum back, and it wouldn't ease the pain, but at least she wouldn't have to worry about hauling everyone up the stairs to bed. She sighed,

"My Christmases after mom died were spent wrestling wine and old pictures from papa. I don't want that this year, it's too much. I don't intend any disrespect to them, Sakura, but it's just-" and Sakura put up a hand, 

"I understand. I just thought it rather unfair that we will all have family around us-"

"You guys are my family too," Amelia admitted, and Sakura once again let her stoic expression slip. She appeared touched behind those round, almond eyes, and her lips slid into a shy smile. She folded her hands in front of herself and stood straight,

"Then I guess it's settled," She mumbled, pleased. 

\--

Putting up the Christmas tree was a feat, to say the least. Arthur had fetched the things they needed down from the attic, both remarking that they had never put it up so late. Arthur admitted that he hadn't really decorated for Christmas since Alfred had passed away, to which Amelia patted his cheek with a smile, promising better times for the both of them. They had then bickered over where to put it,

"I think against the wall, near the fireplace," Amelia said, sticking up her thumb to measure it. Arthur slapped her arm down, and she looked at him with indignation,

"You can't put it there, it'll set fire," He denied, ever the risk assessor, "What about by the door, here?" 

"But you won't see it when you sit down. We're gonna put in all that effort and then not be able to look at it," She countered, folding her arms. They continued for a while longer, opting to put it next to the window instead. Arthur had moved the boxes into the living room while Amelia began to separate the fake wired branches from the tree. She had remarked that they had always had real Christmas trees while living in Richmond, so he had directed her with short and clear commands. Amelia though, with an infinitely short attention span, she had ditched the activity to coo at the glittering colours of the baubles and tinsel in the boxes. They were traditional colours and Amelia realised she wouldn't have expected anything less of her housemate. It was very different to the modern decorations they'd had in Richmond. Arthur had called back to the task with "If you have time to gawk, you have time to get the tinsel on," She had laughed, grabbed a bow with twist wire on and moved over to where he was fumbling with the lights and cursing. She ran her fingers through his hair, mentally noting its softness, and pulled up a tuft. He paid her no mind. She twisted the wire of the ribbon into his hair and howled with laughter when he pulled it out, swearing. There was no real heat to his words, only mirth, fake annoyance and humour.

"Dude, chill out! You're such a foul-mouthed Shakespeare!" She called, and he lunged for her,

"I'll give you 'foul-mouthed Shakespeare'! Come back here, you little rat!" He laughed behind false anger. They were far too old to be chasing each other around the ground floor of the house, yet they did just that. 

  
  


"Ready?" Amelia said to her friend, crouched near the power outlet, her finger on the switch. The blonde Brit nodded with a smile from the sofa, holding both his and Amelia's drinks. She flicked on the power and their hours of tormenting and bickering erupted into light. The Christmas tree produced a gorgeously cosy glow, the glitter of the baubles reflecting shapes onto the false leaves. She clapped her hands in delight while Arthur opted for a short cheer. Very obviously pleased with herself, she sauntered over to the sofa with a wide grin, accepting her drink and plopping down next to him. He wound an arm across her shoulders and pulled her into his side. She went willingly, despite the immediate rush of feelings that came with it, taking a sip of her coffee to hide the warmth in her cheeks. They were both proud and exhausted as they observed the tree. The rest of the living room was a complete mess, with boxes, discarded tinsel and annoying glitter  everywhere , but that was a job for later.

"It's really pretty," She enthused, and Arthur chuckled. 

"It is, indeed," He remarked, and she was sure she saw him glance in her direction. It was probably just wishful thinking. They sat in comfortable silence for a bit, until the American noticed Arthur was fidgeting. She sat up, under the impression that maybe her shoulder was digging into his ribs. He didn't let his arm fall from her, however, in fact it tightened. She frowned and glanced up. He seemed to be warring with himself behind those stunningly green, peridot eyes. They sparkled darkly in the iridescent lights of the decorations.

"Hey, are you okay?" She asked, and watched his Adam's apple bob up and down as he swallowed. Okay, this was totally out of character for him. Worried, Amelia tried to sit up straighter. He sighed, finally meeting her gaze. Her heart jumped at the intense look in his eyes,

"Amelia, I'm not really sure how to go about this, but I-" 

The blare of a ringtone sounded in the kitchen. Amelia's stomach sank and she wanted to throw up, scream, cry or all three simultaneously. How had she forgotten? She glanced slowly in the direction of her phone, in contrast to Arthur whose turn it was to frown at Amelia.

"Love, you've gone as white as a sheet. What's going on?" He asked with outright concern. She stood up on shaky legs, holding up a hand and letting out a unsteady breath. His frowned deepened when she set down her coffee and left the room without replying. Arthur looked after her, watching her closely when she came back with her phone. The ringtone was louder while Amelia assessed the number and slammed it down on the sofa, burying her face in her hands. She slumped back down next to Arthur, who immediately grabbed the device to check the number which was obviously causing Amelia stress. It rolled off her in waves,

"0-2-0… That's a London area code. Amelia, what's going on?" He asked.

Amelia took a breath to compose herself and explain, but Arthur had already slid the green call icon across the screen. She cried out for him to stop as he pressed the device to his ear. 

"Hello?" He said, with an authoritative tone Amelia had only heard him use within their first few minutes of meeting. Amelia cringed hard,

"Hey there! Did I ring Amelia or did I get the wrong number?" Came the disembodied voice of her one and only brother. Matthew's voice was so familiar yet somehow unnatural to her ears. It filled her with a warmth that can only come from close sentiments. Soft and chirpy, as usual, sort of static-y from the signal. She could see his face if she closed her eyes, the similarities between the two. Papa's blue eyes, Mom's blonde hair… Amelia couldn't speak, only gaze at the phone dumbfounded yet hopeful. Arthur gave her a side eye to judge her reaction, softening when he saw a twinkle of hope. 

"Yes, this is her phone. Whom is this and what do you need her for?" His reply was no less forceful, however. She heard Matthew sigh,

"Look, man, I got a text from my missing sister telling me to ring her. If she's with you, I wanna talk to her. If not, I'll hang up and wish you a nice rest of your day." It was said as flatly as a man who'd actually had enough of false leads and messing about. Amelia bought her fingers up to her mouth an chewed at her nails with anxiety. Arthur eyed her again, this time asking for permission. She swallowed down her fear of rejection and nodded. 

"Yes, she's here. I'll go and get her," He said, then muted the microphone. He turned to Amelia,

"What's all this?" He asked,

She rubbed her hands over her face, "It's as he said. I texted him and asked him to call," 

"Why?" And Amelia had a feeling that this is how Arthur would have acted if he were questioning her in police custody. He was stoic, face giving nothing away. It was the perfect recipe to make Amelia crack even if she was going to tell him the truth anyway.

"I dunno, Sakura said something about family and Christmas and I told her that you guys were my family but something was still missing-" 

He nodded, "So you texted him. Amelia, this is really good! Why didn't you answer right away, hm?" He asked, softer now. Amelia felt her insecurities bubble up into her chest as she wrapped her arms around herself. 

"I-I thought I was ready…" She mumbled, and Arthur leaned in to grab one of her hands,

"You are. You've already got this far, now just wish him a Merry Christmas and tell him how you're doing like siblings do," Amelia glanced over to the phone; she still looked unsure. Arthur knew exactly what to say, and his words would come from the very bottom of his heart.

"Trust me, I would love to do that with Alfred. I would give  anything  for one last phone call with him. You don't have that, you can call him as much as you like," 

Amelia gave his hand a squeeze and leant over to unmute them and put Matthew on speaker. She took a breath.

"Hi Matthew," She said, too stiffly for it to sound natural. She heard her brother let out a long shaking sigh. Her heart ached, a different kind of pain than before.

"Oh my god, it's really you," He muttered in disbelief. He took a few seconds to compose himself, while a few sniffles were heard down the phone. Amelia glanced over at Arthur worryingly, who nodded enthusiastically,

"Yeah, dude, it's me. Nuts, huh?"

"This is the best Christmas present ever, Jesus Christ." He said, voice breaking. Amelia felt tears prick her eyes too. The Jones siblings had been virtually inseparable despite the three year age gap. The very notation that her absence had hurt her brother so audibly made Amelia well up. She wiped her eyes,

"Who was that guy? Why did he have your phone, is he holding you hostage or something? I'll kick his ass if he so much as touches you," 

Arthur seemed unphased by the comment, shrugging a shoulder. A fight between Arthur and her brother isn't one she wanted to see, though Arthur would probably win with all his training. And strength... Amelia cleared her throat,

"Arthur is a friend, Mattie. He's helped me out a lot," 

"Arthur, eh? Not being mean or anything, Amy, but you don't exactly have a good track record with choosing friends," Matthew was totally right. Or at least he used to be. 

"Arthur's different, they all are," She replied truthfully. 

"You made more friends?"

"Yeah. I have a job and a house and everything," She said, and Matthew went quiet. She looked at the device with worry, wondering if she had said the wrong thing. 

"I- That's really great Amelia. Papa and I were so worried. I said you'd get in touch with us when you were ready to talk but he didn't believe me, said you'd never come back," Matthew laughed,

"It was Arthur that convinced me to close the report," She replied honestly, flashing a grin at her friend who returned it.

"Seriously? Give him my thanks, nothing ever changes your mind. But sis, I think we have  a lot  of catching up to do," 

"Yeah, Mattie," She smiled weakly, "We really do," She glanced at Arthur with an apologetic smile, an unspoken wish for him to leave the room. He gestured to the device and made a move to stand, pointing to the kitchen should she need him for anything. 

Arthur closed the door to the lounge from the kitchen, where he heard Amelia laugh a bit. He smiled, a little bit envious of her relationship with her brother. They had been like that once, Arthur and Alfred. Inside jokes, cringing at Uncle Allistor's antics at family dinners, chatting about things that got on their nerves… He had forgotten just how good it felt to have a sibling, someone who grew up around the same people that you did, who you could talk about family things to and know you would be understood. He pressed his back against the door with a sigh, hearing Amelia and her brother mumble about things. He was so happy for her. Her brother had, however, interrupted something he was about to tell her, and he honestly couldn't have been more grateful. He wasn't sure whether it had been the cosy glow of the Christmas lights, the chill that lurked outside of the window or the look of pride that decorated her features so sweetly, or the way she had willingly fell against his side so well… But Arthur was about to pour his heart out to Amelia. Really, he should've known better, but he just couldn't let it go. It would have been so easy, but Arthur knew that if he was going to do it, he had to do it right; not with a grand romantic gesture or anything like that, but when there weren't so many complications on his side, and when Amelia was much less vulnerable. After all, his job may very well put Amelia in more danger than she was already. Perhaps after she had met with her family, and when he had finally caught these crooks. He let out a breath and made his way over to the kettle, thanking her brother for inadvertently stopping him from potentially pulling the trigger without thinking. 


	15. Star

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I managed to do two in one month! 
> 
> The festivities continue, but so too do the gangs of London! Again, what was supposed to be two chapters have now become three, but expect the New Year's Day chapter next. I so desperately wanted to keep the holidays to two chapters because, you know, it's February, but there was so MUCH that I wanted to include that I just couldn't do it justice. 
> 
> Speaking of doing justice, I've been thinking about going back through this fic and adding in some new things to make the story more cohesive now I have a plan I'm confident with. Let me know what you guys think!
> 
> Time for the shameless Twitter plug - @ThatYuko. Come scream at me there!
> 
> I hope you enjoy Chapter 15!
> 
> Yuko xx

Arthur sat back in his chair and sighed. He threw his head back to regard the ceiling as the meeting dragged on and on. He didn't mean to zone out so much, normally he was as sharp as a knife during these things, but he found himself glancing at his phone too often. The phone that was wholly inappropriate and could land him with a verbal warning if he was found to have it. His superiors' voices weren't helping his focus either; the old man's droning tones sailed into one ear and out of the other as he went over, not for the first time, the information MI6 had gathered on the organised crime syndicate plaguing the metropolitan area. He felt around discreetly in his pocket and tugged the top half of his device out of his pocket, checking for Amelia's text message. Nothing. With an anxious huff, he shoved the thing back into his trousers and leaned forward, trying to look more engaged than he actually was. He had come to loathe night shifts as the amount of disappearances of teen and young adult women had skyrocketed since November's end. The latest girl had been no older than 16 years old, and that did  _ not  _ sit well with Arthur whatsoever. It had been a case Mathias had handled for a few hours, before finding all of the red flags that indicated the girl had been swallowed by the gang's heinous activities. She had been walking home from work, no less, when the poor lass had been bundled into their car by a group of faceless men, so the CCTV had shown. It had become a key turning point in their investigation, and Arthur  _ hated  _ himself for thinking of her as a tool, as they now  _ finally  _ had some kind of legitimate lead. Granted, they had covered their faces, but they couldn't hide their build or gaits from the cameras. They had slipped up, big time, and the secret Metropolitan Police force who were currently gathered in the stuffy office space were not about to let the evidence go to waste. 

Needless to say, all present had found the footage incredibly disturbing to observe, but none more so than Arthur. Her tousled brown curls, the ripped pleats in her coat, and the terrified wide eyed stare as she kicked out at her attackers were replaced only with Amelia's features, or Sakura's demeanor, and the horrible hole-like feeling in his stomach had not disappeared since. He had spiralled into an anxious stupor when he had seen the girl leave for work that morning with a bright smile, fearing so deeply for her safety. He had already failed this young life, a  _ child _ , and he wondered - how many more? The officer had indeed done his mandatory training in radicalisation but had no degree in criminal psychology. It wasn't up to him to reason why these individuals formed groups and did what they did, just to prevent these things from happening. He couldn't even do that. The media had been having a field day with the story when it broke, as usual, seemingly unaware of the fact that a child's life might not be returned in favour of clicks and coverage. His house mate had seen it, and mourned openly for her, which wasn't helping Arthur's gripping case of anxiety. 

"Amelia, you need to lessen the late nights at the restaurant," He had approached the subject while she was making dinner. She turned to fix him with a strange look,

"Huh? Why?" She asked, and she must have realised that he was concerned as her expression turned to mimic his steely one. 

"Is this… because of that young girl?"

"Yes," He sighed and relaxed, realising that he shouldn't force Amelia to do anything. He did not seek to override Amelia's independence, he knew that alone could do more harm than good through the many arguments he had with Alfred over the bike. He had tried every kind of trick in the book with that thing, which ended up with Arthur losing him for good. He could only advise, he wanted what was best for her after all, "Look, I don't want to tell you what to do, and I know Yao needs you desperately this side of Christmas, but Mathias worked on her case and it's with higher powers now. I saw the footage and…" He let out a shaking breath, "Just… If you have to work late, please could you arrange a lift with Yao? I'll have a word with him about it," Amelia had then done something he always relished in. She had abandoned the crockery and wrapped herself around him in a hug. He could smell the sweetness of her shampoo as he returned the affectionate action. 

"I'll be careful. I'm sorry you had to watch her get taken…" 

"I'm not trying to smother you or undermine you, I know you can look out for yourself, it's just..."  _ I want to protect you _ , 

"I know. Something is going on that you can't tell me and you're worried. But, Arthur, I'm not a pushover. I can kick ass if it comes to it!" 

Thus, Arthur had received a text from her to say she had got home safe whenever she had to work late. Which he was waiting for right now. He was about to go insane with worry. His sour mood must have rolled off him in waves because the silver-haired man next to him elbowed him in the ribs with an irritating smirk. Arthur glared with the force of a thousand suns, but the German had a notoriously hard time reading the atmosphere. 

"Need the bathroom?" Gilbert leant over and whispered through the monotonous recap,

"I  _ need  _ you to shut up," He spat back, earning him a quiet cackle in response. Arthur ignored his colleague, opting to roll his eyes instead of giving him the pleasure of responding. He made a noise, however, when the device vibrated in his pocket. He scrambled to check it wasn't just a notification, the others in the room oblivious to his internal struggle, and visibly sagged when he saw her name on the screen. 

_ Amelia - I'm home! Gonna go bed... Have a great shift, see you in the morning :* xx _

He had a feeling that Gilbert had seen the message over his shoulder, the nosey bastard, as the man released another quiet cackle. Sod him, Arthur thought as he pocketed the phone, evidently more relaxed than before as he slowly began to tune into the sergeant's monologue. When he had finished, Inspector Elizabeta Héderváry, a kind looking member of The City of London's officials had stood and organised her papers on the desk. Arthur had only met the woman a handful of times, but she was a force to be reckoned with; she had an incredible amount of successful cases under her belt which had filled Arthur with a nervous confidence when he discovered he would be working with her. Her green eyes scanned her documents briefly before addressing the room,

"We have reason to believe that the car was stolen too, and we are currently looking for the vehicle in an attempt to recover DNA evidence of the captors. But Constable Køhler, are you absolutely certain that the three men in question are a part of this group?" Her warm tone was directed at the blonde Dane. Mathias had nodded solemnly,

"The descriptions of their failed attempts at coaxing the girl, then their subsequent harassment, fit the statements from the other victims that were given to us by MI6. I have more than enough evidence within my report to believe that these are at least related to the larger group, but I'm aware that the decision cannot be confirmed without physical evidence, Ma'am," Mathias reported. 

"Let's see it, Køhler. Hand it over," She hummed, making a grabbing motion with her gloved hand. The man stood and passed Arthur's seat to give the report to her. The room fell quiet as she scanned her eyes over it, then the Inspector muttered something under her breath that nobody in the room could quite catch, tapping her fingers against her gently made-up face.

"Constable Kirkland, you are pretty much the leader of our men on the ground at The Met until Sergeant Waterford returns from hospital. Are you convinced that Køhler is on the right track?"

"I have no reason to doubt him. When Matthias finds a lead, he is usually right on the mark, Ma'am," Arthur confirmed. It was the truth, Mathias' reports were always solid and factual, despite his infuriating personality. When it came down to it, Arthur could trust the Danish man with his life. The Metropolitan Police's Inspector Neeraja Patel, whom Arthur had met on many occasions, spoke up then,

"My next question, Inspector Héderváry, is how we will go about bringing the vehicle to us. These people," He spat the word harshly, despite his song-like Indian accent, "could be anywhere within the country. We have received word from the West Mercia Police that these disappearances are happening in Shropshire too. If this is the case, then Greater London and City of London areas are not big enough to cover the size of this gang," 

Arthur's mind reeled with this new information. Was this crime syndicate larger than MI6 had initially thought? He glanced at his two appointed partners, but Gilbert and Mathias were already looking to him for answers. This was a worrying development indeed. Inspector Héderváry could sense their unease, and bought their attention back into the conversation while brushing some loose strands of brown hair behind her ear. It gave Arthur a clue as to whether that information should have been shared with them. 

"I will ask the Chief Inspector to contact West Mercia and have them keep a lookout themselves, but London and its boroughs is where we must focus on, gentlemen," 

This was turning out to be a bigger task than Arthur could ever have imagined. 

\--

The sun had been nigh on non-existent for months while Arthur had been at work, so it really did not take him by surprise to see cold darkness outside when he returned to his desk. It was the small hours of the morning, so while traffic was still present, it was not as rabid as during the day. Headlights infiltrated the blinds of the windows on occasion, and the streetlights yellowed the lighting in the office while many of the other officers in the station carried out their tasks. A few were writing reports at their desks and others were absent, probably interrogating anyone brave enough to be drunk or commit petty crime on a Wednesday night. Gilbert crashed down at his desk as noisily as possible and slammed some paperwork onto a pile that was likely to be forgotten. 

"Damn, Héderváry is one hell of a woman," Gilbert breathed out, fanning himself with a piece of paper. Mathias and Arthur gave the man an appalled look,

"Gil, that is positively disgusting," Arthur remarked with a cringe and Mathias pretended to throw up. Gilbert indignantly screwed up his paper and threw it at Arthur, who caught it effortlessly and raised an eyebrow at him.

" _ Halt die klappe _ , eyebrows, let me live! You have your own fantasies with Amelia and don't judge you!"

Arthur choked on his own spit and went uncharacteristically red in the face, "Y-You're totally mistaken!"

The man grinned evilly, "I saw the kissy face on her text messages!" 

"What are you, like, twelve?!"

"Ah, the Infamous Miss Amelia Jones! The only woman capable of opening up your stone cold heart. When's the wedding?" Mathias, obviously feeling left out at Arthur's mortification, interjected,

"We're not even going out, you absolute tossers!" Arthur fumed, a little too loudly to be professional. Gilbert almost fell off his swivel chair laughing, then began to make irritatingly comical kissing faces,

"Knobheads. The pair of you. Absolute knobheads!" The tormented Brit cried incredulously, throwing his hands into the air. Their laughter died down,

"Seriously, though, Héderváry is good looking and strong and-"

" _ Married? _ " Mathias chimed in, earning a sigh from the silver-haired German,

"Regrettably," He muttered. 

"All you think about is your nether regions, my friend," They continued with their back and forth for a bit as Arthur turned to the minutes of the meeting to review them. He needed a moment to breathe and collect himself. He could feel the heat in his cheeks from the teasing. He was a professional for goodness sake, not some kind of teenage boy! Their respective bickering proved to be a balm for Arthur's second sour mood of the shift, at least, as he pulled a highlighter from his desk tidy. He began to mark out their next moves with the yellow stain, focusing mainly on the situation with the vehicle. He had been praying since the meeting had drawn to a close that the car would be found in London at the very least. He wasn't sure how long he had been sitting with his head in his hands trying to ignore his thoughts, which he knew would somehow wonder to Amelia as they always did. He often found himself thinking about her, which was no surprise, really. It was so close to Christmas, only a week or so left. Her thought about her present sitting neatly wrapped under his bed and wondered, rather self-consciously, if it would be enough to make her happy. He paused his train of thought. He couldn't remember the last time had endeavoured so endlessly for someone's happiness in his personal life. He was disturbed by a white plastic cup from the water fountain being thrust into his peripheral,

"Oi,  _ kegle _ , take your pick," His devilish blonde colleague said with a grin. Arthur observed the cup, peering over its rim and seeing folded bits of paper within it.

"I'm confused," Arthur remarked,

"What's new?" Came a voice belonging to another member of their team, and when Arthur glanced in their direction, it seemed that a few of them had gathered around his desk. It was Lukas, one of the lads Arthur had trained with, Feliciano and Abel, one of the newest members of the team who had transferred from the Netherlands four months ago. They were looking at him expectantly,

"It's for the New Year's piss up, duh," Gilbert remarked,

"We're doing it differently this year because Fel and I always host it, and since you never come… You get to pick the name," 

"Whoever's name gets pulled out has to do it this year instead," Lukas chimed in, seeming a bit exasperated as usual. 

"Is my name in there?" Arthur asked, cold as ice. The officers gave him maniacal grins. Of course he was, how could he have expected anything less from these lunatics? He gave them a withering look,

"You better hope that I don't pull myself out or you'll be redrawing," He warned, and stuck his fingers into the cup, making sure to jostle the papers around to ensure it wasn't a fix. He pulled it out of the pot and unfolded it to find his own traitorous name written in Feliciano's handwriting on the tidbit of paper. He glared at it, hoping the words would vanish or rearrange themselves and when they didn't he sighed,

"No. I demand a redraw," He muttered. The team erupted into cheers at Arthur's expense as he hung his head, beginning the third sour mood of his shift.

\--

Christmas morning was a feat, to say the least. The rare sunny spell of the mid-December morning had interrupted the darkness of Arthur's bedroom, positioning itself perfectly to seep in through the gap between his white curtains. He rolled over and rubbed his face, realising it was, in fact, Christmas Day. He smiled and regarded the ceiling,

"Merry Christmas, Alfred," He mumbled to himself, recalling his brother's boyish features. There would no doubt be a thousand text messages from the whole world over, wishing him the very same thing, but he would check and reply to those later. There was a very quiet knock at the door, and his smile widened. He knew who that was. Deciding not to give in easily, he shut his eyes and pretended to be asleep. The door creaked open, and Arthur tried to school his expression. 

"Arthur? Are you awake?" 

No answer. He heard a huff before she 'woke him up' - and by woken up he meant practically ambushed; Amelia was pretty much up and dressed, looking like a complete movie star in a  _ Christmas jumper _ of all things, with her hair falling in perfect curls at her shoulders. She had all but barreled into his bedroom like a banshee on drugs, frightening him to death, and launched herself onto his bed demanding that he 'wake up right now' because 'it's Christmas'. He had shoved her off, half meaning it, and turned over, clearly not a fan of loud mornings whether it was Christmas or not, but she was nothing if not persistent.

"Why did I let you live with me again?" He grumbled, rubbing sleep out of his eyes. The American beamed at him,

"Because you're a lonely old man who needed company," She mocked, jabbing a finger into his ribs.

"I'm only four years older than you!"

" _ Un petit détail _ , as papa used to say," She quipped cheekily. He swatted at her to go away, but she grabbed his hand and pulled his upper body until he was sitting up. 

"Seriously, get up! I'm  _ dying  _ to show you your Christmas present, I've waited weeks!" She pleaded, but a very sleepy Arthur wasn't having it,

"Then a few minutes longer won't kill you," He said with a yawn. This was a big mistake, because Arthur's sleep logged brain was not prepared for the most adorable pout he had ever seen. Amelia could only be described as a kicked puppy, with sparkling blue eyes and a protruding bottom lip and damn, it was way too early to be dealing with these feelings. He sighed,

" _ Fine!  _ I'm getting up. Let me get dressed," He muttered. Amelia exclaimed and punched the air in excitement before rowdily leaving his bedroom.

The Brit emerged about 20 minutes later, opening the door to his room to find the girl bouncing on her toes outside of his door. He didn't have time to pull a face at her before she demanded that he close his eyes. He gave her a suspicious glance, but did as instructed, and she tugged at the sleeve of his shirt to lead him to the stairs. She paused, and Arthur assumed she was trying to find a way to get him down the stairs without breaking their bones.Arthur didn't keep his eyes closed all the way down, opening them a slither when she wasn't looking to make sure they were safe. He felt the floor span out underneath his feet and he knew they had reached the bottom. She tugged violently once more as they seemed to scramble into the living room. She stopped and let go of this sleeve, turning to face him. She cleared her throat,

"Okay, you can open them now," She hesitated. He did. He was right to assume that they were in the living room; the curtains were open, the warm lights of the Christmas tree glittered in the reflections of the ribbons that wrapped around the few Christmas presents on the floor and the room smelt deliciously of warm cookies and fresh pine, Arthur suspected that the baked goods were currently in the oven. The room was the coziest he had seen it in a really long time. The one thing that was objectively out of place, however, was the mirror. It usually occupied the wall space above the fireplace, but it was notably absent. He frowned, noticing something was in its place.

The picture that now tenanted the space was large, and Arthur choked back a few tears when he saw it. There, framed with beautifull wood with intricate vintage detailing, was a picture Arthur hadn't seen in years. The younger depiction of the officer, with his perfectly pressed uniform and incredibly shiny boots, smiled vibrantly at his older self, somewhat innocent and incredibly proud. Next to him, an equally proud sibling, in a dress shirt Arthur had missed seeing. Alfred's hair was pushed back, with that endearing signature flick of hair that he couldn't ever get to sit right, and he had the biggest smile on his face as he too regarded his now even older sibling with surging pride. Arthur studied his brother's boyish features as if they would disappear from right in front of him again. He was absolutely stunned; this photograph had been taken in childhood home by his mother and Sakura; he had looked for this particular one for a long time and thought he would never see it again, lost to time like  _ so  _ much else. Alas, here it was, hanging in his living room. The feelings he felt in that moment were changing so rapidly that Arthur had mental whiplash. It was hard for him to try to gather them all, especially when he realised Amelia was expecting an answer. His eyes didn't leave the print,

"W-where did you get this?" He asked, choked and very emotional. The blonde watched the American wring her hands in his peripheral,

"Sakura showed it to me back when we had that argument about my family. She said you like sentimental things when I asked, so I thought this would be nice?" She sounded very shy, "I-if it's too much, I can take it down" He realised had left it too long to offer her a response when she sighed, but he couldn't help it. 

"I'll take it down-" She moved and Arthur tugged her jumper to stop her,

"No. No, leave it," He swallowed, "I just need a minute," He hid his face in his hands and sighed, composing himself. It took him a few seconds, but he pulled her in and she followed willingly, wrapping her arms around his torso.

"I'm sorry," She mumbled into his shirt,

"Stop saying sorry, you didn't do anything wrong," He returned with fond exasperation. Arthur would never admit that he had succumbed to his impulses when he dropped a kiss on her forehead, 

"Thank you, I wasn't expecting it," He let her go and she moved to put an unusual amount of distance between them. He didn't notice the redness in her cheeks. 

"So does that mean you like it?"

"Of course I do! It's very beautiful and very thoughtful," She squared off her shoulders with a definitive nod, seemingly proud. He prefered her like that. He glanced at the picture once again, smiling this time and wondering if maybe his brother had blessed him with Amelia's presence, when the flicker of the Christmas light brought him back to reality. He had a present of his own after all. 

Arthur moved around some presents from Sakura, Yao, his uncle and his mum to reach for the one he had put down a few nights before. The girl eyed him, and he knew she was about to open her mouth to protest against receiving the present,

"I said-"

"Hey, are you making biscuits?" He asked as a means of distraction. It worked, because she looked in the direction of the kitchen briefly,

"Oh! Yeah, it's papa's recipe! We used to make them with mom and Mattie on Christmas morning," She said. She had been talking about her family more and more since calling her brother, which had become a very regular thing. It brought Arthur a lot of joy to see that she was being more open. He made a noise of acknowledgement when he found what he was looking for, and pulled the present from the pile. He stood and handed it to her. 

"It's not much, but I hope you like it," He said, as she took the wrapped box from him. She glanced down at the present, then back at him,

"I told you I didn't want anything," She said, and he shrugged,

"That's very noble of you, but tough. So have at it," So Amelia did. The excitement was too much as she tore apart the paper like something rabid. Arthur chuckled, watching her fondly. He enjoyed giving gifts more than he did receiving them, truthfully, but nobody was going to know that. She reached the last layer, revealing a large black box with the print of a star on the cover. She frowned up at him, but he simply made a gesture for her to open it. She did, and he laughed again as she frowned at him. He rounded to look over her shoulder,

"You love space, yes? And I heard you and Matthew talking about your mum being one of them too when you were on the phone. It's unconventional, something you wouldn't already have, and I thought you would like it," He said, moving aside one of the promotional leaflets obscuring the view of the real gift. Inside was a framed piece of paper with the name of a constellation and coordinates. 

Amelia turned to him, blinking,

"Arthur, you bought me a  _ star _ ?!" She cried, and he rolled his eyes,

"No, I  _ named  _ a star after you, stupid, as if I could afford a whole star," He said with a smile, and she squealed in delight, gripping the box to her chest, her curls bouncing,

"Dude, his is the coolest thing anyone has ever given me! Thank you so much!" She cried, looking back down at the object. She was grinning like any child would on Christmas morning, and Arthur gave himself a mental pat on the back. She turned around to give him a hug, the box still in her hands. She parted from him, but kept her arms around his neck, laughing in delight. It sounded like music and echoed around the room. Arthur's hands weren't moving either, comfortable on the purchase they had found around her waist, He was smiling like an idiot. Jesus, he was so gone for her.

"Seriously, thank you! Aw, man, wait until I tell Mattie that I have my very own star! I will live forever!" She enthused, and he gave her a lopsided grin. 

"You don't own it, but it has your name," He reiterated, 

" _ Un petit détail, _ " She said again, and Arthur wrinkled his nose at the language causing her to chuckle. Her smile faltered slowly, 

"You won, your present was the best," She said quietly as she regarded him with an expression that Arthur couldn't quite read. He tilted his head, a bit confused by the change in tone,

"I hadn't realised it was a competition, love," He responded, just as quietly, tucking away a strand of hair that had fallen in front of her face. She shrugged, not bothering to quip back as her eyes scanned his face. He felt a bit scrutinised, but quickly realised what was going on, especially so when her baby blue eyes flicked downwards to his lips. He felt his heart jump in his chest and truthfully, he was thinking about how easy it would be to close the gap between them. The atmosphere in the room was so loaded with something electrifying and somewhat frightening as he considered it, wondering if she was too. His grip tightened on her jumper, fingers tangling in the fabric and he felt her breathing stall. He studied her face for a few seconds, almost drowning in her pretty eyes, when something smelt as if it was burning.

"Fire," He said, absentmindly, not really registering it. She frowned… And then panic crossed her face,

"Oh _shit_ , the cookies!!" She cried, and tore herself away. Arthur blinked the moment away and rushed into the kitchen after her.

"Be careful!" He called to her, bent over the oven with a tea towel in her hands, trying to fish the hot baking tray from out of the smoke. She yanked at the tray and slammed it down on the stove with more force than necessary, chucking the tea towel to join it. Arthur rushed over to the window to open it wide, allowing the fumes to escape. Amelia leant against the side in despair,

"Are you okay? Did you burn yourself?" He asked approaching her, she held out a hand in warning, not looking up. 

"I'm fine," She said through gritted teeth. She sounded embarrassed, and Arthur could see the tips of her ears were turning red. 

"I-I'll go…?" He suggested, panicking. She nodded and he turned around to go back into the living room. He closed the door behind him with a wince, and he heard her let out a groan of frustration.


End file.
